


Am mallachd

by jamiemackenziefraser



Category: Outlander & Related Fandoms, Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: F/M, Hurt Claire, Hurt/Comfort, Intrigue, Mystery, Protective Jamie, don't worry I promise it all turns out okay, set season 1, some moments of romance and fluff, they are newlyweds after all
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-17
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:27:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 29,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27596153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jamiemackenziefraser/pseuds/jamiemackenziefraser
Summary: While newlyweds Claire and Jamie are staying at Leoch, troubling incidents begin to befall Claire with alarming frequency. With no explanation for Claire’s suffering, something more sinister seems to be going on. Will Claire and Jamie discover the truth about what’s happening before it’s too late?
Relationships: Claire Beauchamp/Jamie Fraser
Comments: 226
Kudos: 252





	1. Chapter 1

Claire positively glowed in the firelight, Jamie thought to himself. Her creamy skin was illuminated by the dim lighting of the hall, but even more so by the smile that lit her face. Her curls were framing her face, bouncing to brush against her cheekbones as she turned to laugh at something Murtagh had said across the table. Jamie was so enraptured by his bride that he had no idea what they may have been laughing about. Claire turned to him, leveling that brilliant smile on his puir soul, and a broad grin spread across his face in return. How he adored her. 

Unable to resist, he leaned in close to her, placing one hand on her back and pressing his lips so close to her ear that he barely brushed it as he spoke. 

“Perhaps we could go somewhere more private?” 

Claire let out a breathy giggle, cheeks flushing. She was well into her cups at this point, delightfully warm all over. Jamie longed to have her pressed against him, holding her close and hands wandering. 

She nodded in response to his question and her eyes sparkled in anticipation. A giddiness rose in Jamie’s chest, and he stood up from his chair in order to offer her a hand. 

She bid goodbye to their companions (Jamie was too caught up in admiring his wife to pay those drunken bastards any more formality than a nod in farewell), and then Claire was taking his hand and rising. 

He led her out of Leoch’s great hall, the festivities still in full swing. She clutched his hand with more force than necessary, and Jamie was warmed at the thought that she was just as eager for a little privacy as he was. 

They had been back at Leoch nearly a month now, healed from the fallout of their fight about Wentworth, and Jamie found that every day, he fell more and more in love with his Sassenach. She was his very heart. He couldn’t imagine a life without her as much as he couldn’t imagine life without breath in his lungs. 

They walked side by side down the dark hallways, joined hands swinging a little between them. She was showing the effects of alcohol, tipping against him in the most delightful way and then laughing softly. Other than that, they didn’t make a sound. 

Until… Jamie rounded a corner, and Claire stumbled fully into him, her feet slipping out from under her so she slammed into Jamie’s chest with a squeal. The force of her knocked him back against the wall and he let out a huff of laughter. He instinctively wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close to keep her from toppling over. 

She laughed, holding on to him tightly, one hand on his side and the other splayed flat on his chest. 

The second they both stilled and found themselves pressed very fully against each other, Jamie realized that having Claire in his arms like this was far too much of a temptation. Now he definitely couldn’t keep his hands off her another second. 

The air was crackling between them, and then suddenly they were kissing. Jamie wasn’t sure who moved in first, but suddenly Claire’s lips were crashing into his and his to hers, pressing insistently. He kissed her until he was breathless and his lungs ached, but he found air to be trivial in comparison to the need of her. He parted for only a second before lunging forward again, smoothing his hands down her sides to tug her closer to him by the waist. 

She was so soft. As his hands roamed up and down, he was once again overcome by the awareness of the difference between her curves and his hard body. She seemed to fit into him perfectly, soft in all the places he was sharp. She completed him.

Her hands, in turn, were wandering up to his hair, fingers burying themselves into his curls and tugging in the slightest. 

Finally, he (reluctantly) pulled his lips from hers, breathless and panting. 

“We shouldna be out in the open like this, Sassenach, anyone could see,” he gasped. 

“I don’t care,” she muttered, pulling him down to her lips again. 

He followed her obediently, intoxicated by her. Her lips took his hungrily, pressing with such insistence that Jamie could barely keep up. 

But it all changed in a second. 

One moment, she was kissing the daylights out of him, and the next, she was jerking away from him with a cry. 

Jamie was incredibly lost as Claire pulled back from him, face screwed in pain, and doubled over, hands coming up to wrap protectively around her middle. 

“Claire?” Jamie asked urgently. 

He reached down to steady her, placing his hands on her shoulders. He realized with alarm that she was about to collapse. 

Claire was panting in pain, the occasional moan slipping from her pursed lips. 

Jamie had no idea what to do; he hadn’t even the faintest idea what was happening to her. 

When Claire fell to her knees with a cry, Jamie sank down next to her and pulled her into his arms. 

She fell bonelessly against his chest, allowing him to hold her as she rode the pain. 

“Mo ghraidh? What’s happenin’? What can I do?” He desperately asked. 

“I don’t know,” she gritted breathlessly, “it hurts.” 

Jamie felt incredibly helpless. He searched her for any external sign of injury, smoothing a hand over her back and sides and studying every inch of her, but he couldn't find any clues as to what was wrong. 

She let out another moan, and a tear escaped from her eye, both of which were squeezed tightly shut. 

Making the decision suddenly, Jamie scooped his wife into his arms and lifted her as he stood. He carried her down the hallway, half running, her skirts billowing around them. She clung to his neck as fled down the hall in the direction of their room.

Jamie was barely conscious of anything save Claire’s intermittent whimpers. He was so wrapped up in her, in fact, that he didn’t even notice the dark shadow flitting out of view as he passed a side corridor. 

He took the stairs two at a time, anxious to get Claire in bed. 

By the time he reached their room, she had gone oddly quiet. Jamie set her on the bed, laying her down flat with the utmost care, and then brought a hand up to cradle her cheek. Her skin was clammy and beaded with sweat, and eyes fogged with pain. 

“Are ye alright?” he asked softly. 

Claire blinked a couple times, shaking her head in confusion. She brought her hand down to her middle, placing it over her stomach. 

“It…” she started, but she choked off, “the pain’s stopped.” 

Confusion washed over Jamie. “What do ye mean?” he asked, bewildered, even though her answer itself was rather self-explanatory. 

“I don't know…” she said tentatively, “it just… stopped. One second was a terrible stabbing in my middle, the pain so bad that I nearly blacked out. Jamie, it was terrible. I couldn’t breathe. And then… as you were carrying me, and it just… faded away.”

Jamie’s confusion was trumped by gratitude as he took in the relief written across her features. He smoothed his hand down her face, his thumb sweeping across her cheek as he did. 

“How do ye feel now?” he asked. 

“I don’t know how to describe it…” she started, brow furrowing in confusion, “it’s like a soreness. A phantom of the pain. Jamie--” Claire fixed him with panicked eyes and gripped his forearm tightly, “I have _no idea_ what just happened. Pain doesn’t just go away like that.” 

Jamie brought his other hand to cover Claire’s where she held onto him. 

“I dinna ken either. But I’m thankful it’s passed,” he said in a low voice. 

He could tell she was warring within herself, brain struggling between wanting to figure out what the devil had just taken place but also overcome by the trauma her body had just been through and wanting to take Jamie’s out and let go. 

Finally, she acquiesced, nodding in agreement. 

“Why dinna ye get some rest?” Jamie suggested. He couldn’t think of anything else to do. “I’ll watch over ye for a bit. Just tae make sure ye’re alright.” 

Claire nodded, her eyelids already starting to droop. Watching her double over in pain had sobered Jamie right up, and he didn’t think he’d be sleeping any time soon, but his wife on the other hand looked just that ready to drift off into oblivion. 

Before she did though, she spared a fearful glance up at him. “I don’t have a medical explanation for what just happened, Jamie,” she breathed. 

“Hush,” he said quietly, reached up to brush some stray curls from her forehead, “dinna fash about it now. Ye’re just fine.” 

Jamie wasn’t sure he believed his own words, but she seemed to accept them. She nodded, pressed a kiss to his palm, and snuggled down under the covers as she closed her eyes. 

True to his promise, Jamie sat up and watched her well into the night. But her breathing remained even, no signs of the terrible attack she had suffered. Despite the normalcy of her sleep, Jamie couldn’t help but relieve the movement in the hall over and over again. One second she had been kissing him with unabashed passion, and the next, all the life had gone out of her as she tore away from him and was overcome with pain. The image of her doubled over in front of him was burned into his brain, in much the same way that the sound of her cry echoed in his ears.   
  
Jamie hated that there was nothing he could do to protect her from this threat. 

And so, he just sat and watched, praying that she would never experience such a thing again, counting her breaths. 

After a long while, he laid down next to her. On instinct, sensing his nearness even in her sleep, Claire shifted to nestle against his side. Jamie turned and gathered her into his arms, pressing a kiss to her forehead. 

He drifted off into a tenuous sleep, ready to wake at any moment should Claire need him. 

But nothing happened; the night passed uneventfully. They both slept, blissfully unaware of what was taking place only a few rooms below. 


	2. Chapter 2

The next few days passed uneventfully. Jamie tended the horses, engaged with the men, went on hunts, while Claire stocked her surgery and tended patients. Life seemed to be normal at Leoch. Claire showed no signs of… well, whatever had happened, and both of them dismissed it as a fluke. 

Until a few days later. 

Claire was alone in her surgery. Jamie had promised to come in for lunch, and she was just waiting until he came in, hoping that no emergency patient would interrupt them. She sat at her table, bundling herbs together with neat ties. 

She was bored. Although she had been settling into life at the castle quite nicely, finding herself a million times more content than she had been mere months ago (marriage with Jamie suited her), the days without patients proved to be rather unstimulating. Nevertheless, those were few and far between, and she usually found herself gratified by the work she was doing. Except on days like that day.

With a sigh, Claire stood and walked over to the other side of the room to grab her other basket and more string. 

On her way back to the table, however, there was a sudden snap and pain shot through her arm. Her vision whited out and her ears roared as she fell to her knees. Her arm went limp, dropping the basket and scattering its contents all over the floor. Agony flared up and down the length from forearm to shoulder. She grabbed at it on instinct, but the touch jarred it, increasing the pain ten times over, and she let out a cry. 

She forced herself to breathe, her heart thumping wildly in her chest, but found her lungs could only take in short gasps. The buzzing in her ears seemed to grow louder, and she thought for a second she might pass out from the pain in her arm. 

She laid down on the floor on her back, injured arm tucked onto her chest, careful not to let it touch the ground. 

Jamie, oh god, I need you. 

She spared a glance down at her arm, and the sight of it made her sick. 

The tip of dislocated bone protruded from underneath the skin. Definitely a compound fracture, thankfully closed, her brain helpfully provided. But that’s not possible...

Claire was used to seeing all kinds of injuries, but this one made the world spin. Dizziness overtook her, and the image faded in and out. 

Her head smacked back down against the floor as she no longer had the strength to hold it up, and that was the last thing she was aware of before everything went black. 

***

Jamie was covered in dust from a long, arduous morning trying to break the new mare. Still, he was eager to see his wife. He was a little late for their lunch, but he was sure Claire would forgive him. Jamie couldn’t wait to see her, imagining her smile as he walked into the surgery. 

As he got to the door and opened it, he called a greeting. 

“Sassenach! I’m here, mo ghraidh, I hope you’re--” 

The sight that greeted him made him stop dead in his tracks, blood running cold. 

Claire laid on the floor in the middle of the surgery, motionless. 

“Claire!” he cried. 

Jamie rushed to her side and fell to his knees, brushing the hair away from her face. It was pale and sheened with sweat, lines of pain etched into it even while she was unconscious. His gaze swept down her body, and his breath stuck in his throat as he caught sight of her arm, clearly broken, laying on her chest. 

Christ! How long had she been here like this? Alone and in pain. 

“Claire! Can you hear me? Wake up, a nighean.” 

It occurred to him after he said it that maybe it was best if she didn’t wake up yet. The break was nasty, surely it would need to be set, and better if she was unconscious during that. But who was going to set it? 

Panic started to roar in his ears. He didn’t know what to do for her. He had no experience in this area. She needed a physician, but she was the only one at Leoch. 

Ah dhia, pull yerself together and think!

Jamie took a deep breath and decided Mrs. Fitz was the best option. Unwilling to leave her alone for one more second in this miserable place, Jamie very carefully slid one hand under her legs and the other under her back and lifted, careful not to disturb her arm. He carried her down the hall, cradled to his chest, moving with urgency. 

On the way to the kitchens, he came across a few people in the hallway, blocking his path. 

“Out of the way,” he bellowed, and they scurried off, making room for him to carry his wife through and into the kitchen. 

“Mrs. Fitz!” he shouted, desperate but authoritative tone making all the kitchen maids quiet and stop what they were doing. 

Mrs. Fitz emerged, and her look of bewilderment turned into one of gravity as she caught sight of Claire in his arms, unconscious and pale. 

“She needs help,” was all Jamie managed to say, even though that was quite apparent, before Mrs. Fitz was motioning him to follow. 

She hurried into a room just off of the kitchen (likely her room, some distant part of Jamie’s brain realized. But that was of no importance to him right now). 

As Jamie pushed past her to lay Claire on the bed, he started to breathlessly explain. 

“I found her in the surgery like this. I jus’ walked in and she was lyin’’ unconscious on the floor. I have no idea how long she’s been like this. The only thing I can tell is her arm is badly broken. I dinna ken what to do.” 

Thankfully, Mrs. Fitz seemed to know what to do, because she straightened, putting on an air of calm authority. 

“Jamie, lad, fetch me some cloth and tell Ellie and Mary to come in here,” Mrs. Fitz instructed. 

When Jamie didn’t move, his gaze still fixed on Claire’s pale face, she added in a half-shout, “now!”

He sprung into action, darting from the room and yelling for the girls. He told another to bring boiling water and some rags. 

When he ran back into the room, the two maids on his heels, Mrs. Fitz looked up from where she was leaning over his wife. 

“Get out, Jamie,” she said in a low tone, “ye wilna want to see this next part.” 

“No,” he protested, “I’m not leaving her!” 

Mrs. Fitz stalked over to him, placing a hand on his chest and pushing him backward with surprising force. “I wilna have ye interfering. Ye’ll wait outside until I call ye in, is that understood?” 

With one last glance at Claire, Jamie allowed himself to be pushed out of the room and the door slammed in his face. 

His heart beating a mile a minute, Jamie fell against the wall and slowly slid down it until he sat on the ground, knees curled to his chest. He buried his face in his arms and prayed. 

***

The first thing Claire was aware of was a shooting pain in her right arm. Her eyes felt like they were glued shut, and her throat was raw, but all that was trivial compared to the agony of her arm. 

Ever so slowly, she managed to peel her eyes open. 

She was in an unfamiliar room, blankets tucked around her, and Jamie dozed in a chair beside her bed. She relaxed at the sight of him. 

What in God’s name had happened? 

She searched her foggy brain for the last thing she remembered. For a second she came up blank, and then suddenly it all came flooding back. 

She had been in the surgery, walking across the room, when out of nowhere, her arm had broken, and she’d collapsed to the floor. After minutes of agony, alone and terrified out of her mind, she had succumbed to unconsciousness. After that, she remembered nothing. 

“Jamie,” she croaked, forcing the sound through her dry throat. 

He woke with a start, jerking up in his chair, anxious gaze turning on her and then softening as he realized she was awake. 

“Sassenach,” he said, voice tinged with relief, “thank God ye’re awake. Are ye alright, lass?” 

“My arm hurts like hell,” she rasped in answer. 

She looked down and saw that said arm was wrapped tightly in cloth and strapped to her chest with what looked to be Jamie’s belt and more rags. It looked like a fairly professional job; obviously it wasn’t Jamie’s work alone. 

As if reading her thoughts, Jamie explained, “When I found ye in the surgery, I brought ye to Mrs. Fitz. She set yer arm and fixed ye up best as she could.”

Claire nodded, but found the movement painful to her cotton-filled brain, and let her head fall back against the pillow. 

“Here, a nighean,” Jamie said softly. 

He reached over to the table beside the bed and grabbed a small vial sitting there. 

“Mrs. Fitz found ye some laudanum. Should help wi’ the pain, aye?” 

“Yes,” Claire said gratefully. The pain in her arm was a constant ache, every beat of her heart sending another bolt through it. 

Jamie cupped the back of her head and lifted it gently as he pressed the vial to her lips. She gulped down the nasty liquid, and then he settled her back down on the pillow. 

He was quiet for a second, tracing the back and his fingers up and down her cheek and studying her. 

“What happened, mo chridhe?” he asked, very gently. 

Claire felt fear and confusion rise in her chest as she thought back to that inexplicable event. 

“I have no idea, Jamie. I was just walking across my surgery when there was this terrible pain in my arm.” She looked up at him with stormy eyes. 

Jamie didn’t react to her story at all. His face was a stony mask that kept all his thoughts very carefully guarded. 

“Claire,” he said, very slowly, voice low and calm, “tell me who did this to you. I ken ye’re scared. But I promise, I won’t let them hurt you again.” 

Claire furrowed her brow. “I was alone, Jamie, no one did this to me.” 

He leveled her with emotion-filled eyes, but there was a hardness there as well. 

“There were signs of a struggle. Yer wee basket was thrown and herbs everywhere. Please, a leannan, tell me who did this?” He took a deep, shuddering breath, “Did he threaten you? Listen to me… I promised I would protect ye, and I will. Just tell me who it was.” 

Claire felt desperate tears well in her eyes. She reached up with her good hand to grab his forearm and squeeze, entreating him to listen and understand. 

“Jamie, look at me. I promise you, no one did this. I don’t know what happened. I was alone in my surgery, and I was fine one minute, and the next-- horrible pain. I dropped my basket and fell to my knees. When I looked down, I saw my arm was broken. Jamie... I’m really scared. I need you to believe me.” 

Jamie looked at her for a long second, studying her as the tears started to leak down her cheeks. 

“I believe you,” he said finally. 

Claire let out a sob, relief flooding her whole body like a wave, and then suddenly Jamie was pulling her up and into his arms. 

He was careful to angle her so that her injured arm was not touching him, but he had both arms wrapped around her, one pressing her teary face into his shoulder. 

She let go, crying against him as he whispered soothingly into her ear, “I believe ye, mo ghraidh. Dinna fash. I wilna let anythin’ happen to ye.” 

His reassurances relaxed her. Even though a part of her knew that Jamie had no control over whatever the hell was happening to her and no possible way to protect her from it, she found herself believing him. 

Jamie was here. Wrapped in his arms, surely she was safe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed the first two chapters! I'm planning on 7 chapters, although it's possible that there will be more. I'll try to update pretty regularly. Thank you so much for reading!!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Previously on "Am mallachd"...  
> Claire collapses in the hallway of Leoch out of the blue one night after dinner. Jamie and Claire brush it off, but they can't ignore it any longer when Claire, while alone in her surgery, suffers a broken arm. Jamie walks in from the stables to find her lying unconscious in the middle of the surgery and rushes her to Mrs. Fitz. When she awakes hours later, Jamie pleads with her to tell him who did this to her. But she insists it was no one. 
> 
> What is going on? And can Claire and Jamie find out before it's too late?

Claire recovered well in the next couple of days. Jamie took her back to their chamber, and waited on her hand and foot until she regained her strength. With her arm strapped tightly to her chest, she was thankfully still mobile. 

She was well enough to return to work after 3 days, and a good thing at that. People were apparently lined up with various ailments and needing her attention. 

However, since she only had one hand, her dominant one strapped uselessly to her chest, she would never be able to tend them by herself. So, Colum had assigned her an assistant to be her hands. 

A very attractive one-- with very fine hands-- if she did say so herself. 

Jamie had proven to be a rather competent aid. And she rather liked having Jamie by her side at all hours. Aside from the joys of ordering him around and watching him obediently carry out her every command, she was glad of his protection. Although she wasn’t sure he really could protect her against whatever was happening, she couldn’t bear the thought of being alone and in pain again. She felt a million times safer with her big Scot next to her. 

And so, Claire and Jamie struck up a rather nice routine. He helped her in the surgery all day, then took her to dinner, and then they retired to their bed. They hadn’t talked about the incident since that day. Neither of them had any explanation, and it seemed there was nothing that could be done. The unspoken fear lay in the air between them. 

However, as the days went by without incident, Claire felt herself starting to relax little by little, lulled into a sense of security. Maybe it had been some crazy medical thing she had never heard of. Or maybe the basket had somehow hit an existing hairline fracture and broken it into a compound. There had to be some explanation, even if she didn’t have one. So, she began to content herself with the unknown. 

*

Jamie, on the other hand, didn’t know what to think. He had told Claire he believed her, and he really tried to. She certainly thought she was telling him the truth, but some part of him still held that maybe someone had done this to her, and she either had forgotten from the trauma of it or somehow convinced herself she had been alone. 

Jamie felt better being by her side. He kept a watchful eye out at all times, glancing into the dark corners of the surgery suspiciously, worried that someone might emerge who wanted to do harm to his wife. 

He was pleased with her recovery. She was a constant ball of energy after only a matter of days. More than that, Jamie enjoyed seeing her in her element. She was a wonderful healer, calm under pressure and explained things very carefully to him. Even when his hands would shake and stomach churn at the sight of some injury, Claire was able to pull him together and talk him through exactly what she needed him to do. He was proud of her work (and proud of himself too, he had to say). 

As the days went by, he found he started to like his new role, and the worry that tensed his muscles started to ease. 

One day, after dinner, Jamie proposed that they take a wee stroll outside. He missed the fresh air, and wanted some time with his wife that wasn’t in that stuffy surgery surrounded by blood. He was positively itching to be outside again, and Claire, picking up on his eagerness, agreed wholeheartedly. 

They spent the evening strolling leisurely through the grounds of Leoch, the stars a picturesque covering of the night sky and moon conveniently full. As the night grew cooler, Jamie shrugged off his coat and placed it over Claire’s shoulders, smoothing his hand fondly down her good arm. She gave him a smile that made his knees go weak. Her hair glinted in the moonlight, and her good mood was matched only by the romantic setting. They stole kisses occasionally, whenever they were struck with the fancy. 

On the way back inside, as Claire was telling him a story about a patient, they nearly ran straight into Laoghaire. 

Coming face to face with her in the hall, Claire stopped speaking instantly and planted her feet in the ground, holding onto Jamie’s hand tightly. He saw her narrowed eyes. 

The girl, on the other hand, looked shocked to see them in front of her, and her eyes widening and instantly fixing on Jamie and Claire’s clasped hands. She stared at them for long enough that Jamie bristled. 

“Laoghaire,” he greeted cooly, trying to shake the girl from her revelry so that they could be on their way. 

She looked up, putting on a fake smile. “Mr. Fraser. Mistress Beauchamp.” She bobbed a slight curtsy. 

Jamie bristled a little. “Ye’ll address my wife as Mistress Fraser,” he instructed. 

Claire, who made no pretenses to like the girl, had her eyes narrowed at Laoghaire but bit her tongue practically. 

“Sorry,” Laoghaire let her gaze fall downward, “apologies Mistress Fraser. I-- I’m glad to see ye’re lookin’ well after yer… accident.”

Jamie felt the urge to say something again, but he bit it down. Claire was more than capable of answering herself. 

And she did. “I’m quite well, thank you,” she said in a low voice. 

Laoghaire nodded, averting her eyes. “I-- have much to do. I best be on my way then.” 

The girl took one more glance at Jamie, a certain longing deep in her eyes that distrubed him, but he brushed it off. Her child-like fancy of him was of no concern now. Claire was his wife, and he was hers, and he would proudly show the world. The girl made one last dip of the head and then scurried down the corridor, disappearing into the shadows on light feet. 

Claire looked up at him and rolled her eyes. 

“Does she have to look at you like you’re a piece of meat?” she complained. 

“Are ye jealous then?” Jamie joked as a smirk tugged at the corners of his mouth. 

“You know bloody well that I am. She’s made it clear that she wants you, but you’re mine.” 

Jamie couldn’t help but smile at Claire’s words that echoed his exact thoughts about her. Her possessiveness spread a warmth through his body. 

“Care to show me that when we get back to our chamber, Sassenach?” Jamie whispered into her ear. 

Claire’s eyes blazed. She didn’t respond to him, simply stalked forward, tugging him along behind her, making their way much more quickly now to their room. 

Once the door was safely shut behind them, Jamie stood expectantly in the middle of the room, waiting for his wife to do with him what she would. She was standing across the room, back to him, and he found his heart was pumping in anticipation. 

Shooting him a look over her shoulder, Claire began to slowly, ever so slowly, reach behind and untie her skirts. Jamie, taking initiative, walked over and drew close to start unlacing her corset. She pressed back into him in the most delightful way. 

It felt like it took forever to unwrap her, but soon she stood in her shift in front of him. 

He stepped back and took a moment to admire her in the firelight. She was so bonny, standing there, looking to him like an angel. 

Since Jamie was studying her so intensely, he saw the exact moment when her eyes widened. 

It was confusion at first. Her breath seemed to catch in her throat, and she let out a gasp. He saw her throat work, swallowing hard, as if trying to dislodge a lump, but then her mouth fell open, pretty pink lips forming an o. 

Jamie was frozen, watching her with mounting concern and anxiety. 

Her hands flew to her neck. She began to claw at it, pulling at nothing, as if there was an invisible noose cutting off her air. 

It became very clear to Jamie that she was choking. Little gasps and panicked noises were falling from her lips. 

“Sassenach!” He ran toward her, his own hands joining hers at her neck. 

She was suffocating. Her face was beginning to darken as she struggled desperately for air. Her eyes screamed at him to help, whisky depths visible in the firelight, wide and full of panic. 

He tore her hands away from her neck, trying to free her from whatever choked her. 

But nothing was there. 

His hands were met only with the soft, delicate skin of her neck. 

Her hands were tugging on his wrists now. She was so frantic to get air that she was wildly fighting him, as if his hands were the ones choking her. 

Jamie’s ears were roaring in panic. He had no idea what to do for her. His brain raced in an attempt to come up with something-- anything-- he could do for her.

All of a sudden, she collapsed, going boneless under Jamie’s hands and slipping down to fall to the ground. 

She writhed on the floor as Jamie dropped to his knees beside her. She was coughing and choking, an inch away from passing out. 

Hot tears of frustration and helplessness were streaming down Jamie’s cheeks, but he barely even noticed them over the frenzied panic for his wife. 

Just as quickly as the attack had come on, Claire suddenly went limp, as if all of the tension in her body left. 

Jamie thought at first that she’d passed out from lack of oxygen, and his brain was just beginning to process that horror when suddenly she heaved a huge intake of breath. She shuddered with the force of drawing in breath, and then proceeded to cough violently. 

Still completely powerless to do anything, Jamie just placed a hand on her back and rubbed soothingly as she fought to regain her breath. 

There was a mantra of “Thank Christ. Thank Christ,” and he realized distantly that it was him. 

He was grateful to God and all of his angels that… whatever the hell just happened… had stopped. His muscles shook in relief, and he just watched Claire gasp in air with the gratitude of a man on the verge of drowning. He supposed that metaphor was far too close to whatever had happened. 

“Christ,” he whispered, “ye’re alright now. Ye’re fine. Breathe now, that’s it. That’s it, a nighean.” 

He couldn’t offer anything besides soothing words. 

As Claire’s breath began to even again, Jamie found his brain descending from panic and survival mode and starting to question what the hell had just happened. 

She had been perfectly fine the one moment, and the next, something was choking her. And as quick as it had started, it had passed. 

There was no damn explanation for that. 

At that moment, Claire tried to croak out something that sounded a bit like his name, but he hushed her. 

“Dinna try to speak just yet, Sassenach. Just breathe,” he instructed her, trying to sound calm. 

Because as much as he was reeling, Claire must have been worse. He could see the terror shining in her eyes, the feeling of vulnerability and helplessness. Seeing her like that made his heart ache. 

He reached out and wiped the tears from her cheeks very gently, then cradled her face in his palms. 

“It’s alright now,” he tried to soothe. 

Her breathing was still coming in deep pants, inhalations and exhalations shaky and unsteady. He wasn’t sure if it was the best course of action, but he needed to feel her and was overcome by the urge to comfort, so he reached down to draw her upper body into his arms, lifting her off the cold floor and into his lap. 

He rocked back and forth slightly, soothing words turning into Gaelic, becoming background noise. He murmured inane comforts into the softness of her hair. She seemed so small cradled against him. 

“Hush, mo ghraidh,” he murmured. He found himself at a loss for words. “It’ll be jus’ fine now. I’m here.” 

He savored the brief instant of quiet, Claire resting bonelessly in his arms.

“Can ye take a drink then?” He asked after a long moment. 

She nodded, and Jamie, ever the Scot, produced a flask of whisky from his coat. Jamie pressed it to her lips and tipped ever so slowly, allowing her to take a couple tentative gulps. 

She coughed a little, but nodded that she was okay, and took one last sip. The whisky seemed to help, because now she was able to speak. 

“Jamie, what the hell is happening to me?” she rasped. The fear was apparent in her voice, and Jamie wished to God that he had something to say to ease it. 

“I dinna ken. Christ! There was truly nothin’ there. But…” 

Jamie looked down at her throat, and suddenly noticed there were blossoming bruises already forming. The pale skin there was lined with red splotches, a clear indication that something had been choking her. Only he had felt her neck, and nothing had been there. 

Claire followed his gaze and her brows furrowed. “What?” 

He tentatively brought his fingers up to trace along the line of bruising wrapping around her neck. 

“You’ve bruises,” he said softly, “That cannae be possible. There was nothin’ there, but ye have bruises…” 

She reached her own hand up to press against her neck, wincing at the pressure to the tender spot. 

“I’m scared,” her voice came out barely a whisper, but it shattered Jamie’s heart. 

He hugged her closer and pressed his lips to her temple for a long second. At a loss for anything to say. 

“I’m scared too,” he finally admitted. He always believed the truth was better than lies, and Claire didna care for false promises of safety. 

He could hold her though. He could pour his love and concern for her into his arms and keep her close. He wished he could simply wrap her up in his cloak, even his body, and keep away the darkness that threatened her. 

God, he really was scared. He hated being this helpless. 

Jamie suddenly felt overcome by guilt. There was something terrible happening to her, something unearthly and sinister, and he hadn’t believed her. 

“I’m sorry, Sassenach,” he breathed, “I’m sorry I didna believe ye at first. But now… now I ken. There are... sinister forces at work here. It’s like… the stuff of stories. Of legends-- black magic. I dinna ken.” 

Claire's eyes shone with unshed tears as she looked up at him. Her voice was tiny, barely there, as she asked, “What do we do now?” 

Jamie felt like he had been punched in the stomach. All the air left his lungs, and he couldn’t seem to draw in any more. 

He reached down and smoothed a hand over her curls. Once. Twice. Soothing. 

“Now... we get to the bottom of it. I willna allow this to go on, a leannan. Dinna fash.” 

*

Neither of them slept that night. Jamie laid on his side, both arms around Claire as she tossed and turned. Halfway through the night, she shot up in bed, gasping, but it quickly became apparent that it had only been a nightmare. The rest of it, he simply held her close, praying to anyone that would listen that she’d be safe. He’d give anything for her to be safe. 

***

Claire was positively drooping with fatigue. She spent the day in fear, muscles tensed, feeling unsafe in her own body. Any second could bring unspeakable agony. And there would be nothing she could do. 

She couldn’t seem to bring herself to eat. Couldn’t close her eyes for more than a few minutes before she was plagued by her whirring mind. 

She felt her whole body trembling as she busied herself with work. Her nerves were frayed. 

The only thing that really brought her comfort was Jamie. Even though she logically knew there was nothing he could do, the strength of him, the solid confidence, his nearness-- all were like a balm to her soul. Jamie was protection in her mind. And the few moments of peace she had were when she was wrapped in his arms, her face buried in his chest, as he spoke Gaelic over her. 

He was worried about her, she knew. He sat on the edge of her table in the surgery as she worked, watching her with big, soft blue eyes filled with concern. 

“Have ye eaten, a nighean?” he asked quietly. 

Claire shook her head. “I’m not hungry.” 

Jamie stood and walked over to her. He made full use of his height, towering over her as he stopped her by placing a gentle hand on her cheek and forcing her to look up at him. 

“Ye need to eat, lass. Ye need yer strength.” 

His eyes flicked involuntarily down to where her neck sported a ring of angry bruises, and then further down to her broken arm rested in its sling. 

Claire felt helpless frustration bubble up in her chest. 

“I can’t,” it came out a strained whine, and Claire kicked herself for seeming so weak. 

But Jamie’s eyes held nothing but sympathy. Not a pity, as she may have expected, but a similar fear reflected in those thoughtful depths. 

“Why dinna ye have a wee lie down while I get us somethin’ from the kitchen?” he suggested, “maybe ye’ll feel a bit better later.” 

Claire suddenly felt a rush of fear wash over her, and she lunged forward to grab Jamie’s hand. 

“Don’t go--” fell from her lips, “don’t leave me.” Irrational tears began to prick at her eyes. 

Jamie froze, and then shrank noticeably. 

Then he was springing into action, turning around to take her into his arms with a certain ferocity, wrapping them around her middle and squeezing. 

“I promise, I’ll no’ leave ye,” he whispered into her hair. She trembled against him, shaking like a leaf. Jamie obviously noticed, because he held her impossibly closer. “I’m no goin’ anywhere, mo ghraidh. Dinna fash. I’m sorry, lass. Dinna fash.”

Claire’s panic subsided with his promises, and she forced slow breaths in and out through her bruised throat. Her heartbeat gradually slowed, pressed against Jamie, and she took stock of her body. She could feel her limbs, the blood pumping in her veins, her lungs inflating and deflating with every draw of breath. Everything was working fine. She was fine. 

Reluctant as she was to part from Jamie, she pulled back, giving him a tenuous smile. 

“I’m alright,” she said to that terribly handsome face that had gone soft with worry, “I’m okay.” 

“I ken,” was all he said, “let’s go to the kitchen together.” 

***

That night, she still couldn’t sleep. She managed to rest only for a few minutes, listening to the sound of Jamie’s heartbeat and lulled by it’s soothing rhythm. 

But her thoughts soon traveled back to the incidents. To those terrible moments alone in the surgery. To the helplessness of suffocating while in the supposed safety of their chambers. 

She was more than ready to give up and rise from bed. Jamie was fast asleep, no use to wake him, she could just sit by the window a while and look at the stars. She sat up, rubbing her eyes, sticky from fatigue. 

And when she looked down, ready to press a kiss to Jamie’s forehead and see if he would smile in his sleep, she suddenly noticed the blossom of stark red on the white material of Jamie’s sleep shirt. 

Even with the dim light of the room, Claire knew immediately what it was. 

Blood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Claire! And poor Jamie! WhAt is going on?? 
> 
> Thank you so, so much for reading and for all your support! Your kudos and comments mean the world to me. If you ever want to talk, you can also find me on tumblr @ jamiemackenziefraser. Stay tuned for the next chapter <3


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Previously on "Am mallachd"...  
> Jamie remains dubious about the source of the incidents while Claire works to adjust to life again. However, in the privacy of their own room, Claire suffers another attack. Jamie can only watch as a seemingly invisible force suffocates her, only to release her at the last moment. Now he knows for sure that something much worse is going on. Both of their nerves are frayed and every little thing puts them on edge. The following night, Claire awakes to find Jamie's shirtfront covered in blood...

“Jamie!” she cried, voice edged with desperation, “Jamie, wake up!” 

Jamie was jerking awake in an instant, blindly reaching for the dirk under his pillow and drawing it. 

“Jamie, you’re bleeding!” she cried, horror clogging her throat and making it nearly impossible to force the words out. 

She reached out for him, clutching at his blood stained shirt front. 

Jamie’s head dropped so he could peer down at the blood on his chest. His brow furrowed as he studied the stain. He tugged at his shirt, surveying his chest. 

“It’s no’ my blood--” he said, sleepy voice laced with confusion. 

He looked up at her, perplexed, and then his eyes went suddenly wide and face blank. 

Claire’s brain was still grinding, fear for him mixed with confusion at his assertion that it wasn’t his blood, and then suddenly everything clicked into place as Jamie’s usually stony face paled in the moonlight. 

“It’s yours!” he suddenly finished. It was his turn for horror, and his voice trembled as he made the declaration. 

As soon as he spoke, dizziness spun Claire’s world on its axis. The image of Jamie swam before her eyes. 

She gingerly reached up to touch the right side of her face, suddenly aware of a warm, sticky sensation that was dripping down all the way to her neck. Feeling very detached, she withdrew her hand and looked down to find that her fingers were coated with blood. 

She had been sitting up in bed, but as her head was suddenly filled to the brim with cotton, she thought distantly that she needed to lay down again. Her eyes rolled back into her head, and her body went suddenly limp. 

Next thing she knew, she was looking up at Jamie, who was now sitting up in bed, and her head was cradled in his lap. 

He was saying her name desperately, pleading with her to open her eyes. 

“Sassenach, come on, come on now, lass. Hold on.” 

His warm hand was pressed tightly to the side of her head. It hurt. 

His eyes were wild as he looked down at her, but Claire felt a sort of lightness, a detachment from the whole situation. He seemed to be moving a mile a minute, words pouring from his mouth, but Claire couldn’t seem to catch them all. Her world was slow and sticky, like molasses. 

There was a rushing in her ears, a shushing noise that seemed almost pleasant. 

Suddenly, there was another hand pressing hard to her chest, and Claire glanced down to see Jamie’s big hand was now plastered to the center of it, right above her sternum. 

Blood was flowing from between his fingers. 

That’s odd, came the distant thought from her cloudy brain, that must be my blood. 

“Can ye hear me, Claire?” Jamie’s voice was repeating. 

“Yes,” she answered dreamily. She could hear him. She wished he wouldn’t talk so loud. 

“Keep yer eyes open, lass,” he growled. 

There was a grey mist gathering around her. She wasn’t sure she liked it, but it threatened to consume her, growing closer and closer. A heavy weight seemed to drag her downward. 

“Answer me!” Jamie said from above her, “damn it, Claire, stay wi’ me. I need ye to say ye’ll stay awake.” 

“Alright,” she said hazily, blinking slowly up at his face. God, he looked terrified. 

“Hold on,” he said firmly. 

Then suddenly, his hands were gone, along with the hazy image of his face above her, and she felt the softness of his body under her disappear as he lifted her off his lap. 

She looked down at her blood soaked front and felt her stomach lurch. 

She didn’t like all this jostling. Where was Jamie going? 

She was laying with the right side of her head pressed down against the mattress. The world was tilted sideways in front of her, and she saw Jamie streaking toward the door. It flew open, but Jamie didn’t go through it. He just stood there, shouting “help!” and then more words in Gaelic she couldn’t wrap her head around. 

Why did he need help again? Claire should really help him, he sounded scared…

She tried to sit up. She had to get to him, but dizziness overtook her, and her upper body thumped hard down back against the bed. 

“Christ, lass, be still.” Jamie had appeared by her side again, and she felt his hands on her shoulders, pressing her down. 

“What’s… what’s wrong?” she forced out, “what’s going on?” 

Jamie looked like he was about to cry, and she wished that she had the strength to take him in her arms and comfort him. Why did her bones feel like they were made of lead? 

She blinked slowly at him. His lips were moving, but she couldn’t seem to make out what he was saying. 

“--awake. Promise me ye’ll no’ close yer eyes?” she finally caught. 

Claire would promise him anything. She loved him. 

His hands were on her chest and head again. She nodded a little against Jamie’s palm, but that seemed to upset him, so she quickly stopped. 

Warm. She was very warm. Someone should get this bloody blanket off of her. 

“Sassenach!”

She heard that one very clearly. 

“Mo ghraidh, I dinna ken what to do. Ye’re losin’ too much blood. Can ye tell me what t’ do?” 

Losing too much blood? I’m just trying to go to sleep here, silly!

At that moment, Claire’s foggy attention fixed on the door, where Murtagh was bursting into the room much too quickly for her taste. 

She saw his eyes widen as he took in the sight of her, but she was too tired to care. 

“Ah dhia!” he cursed. 

Two more men that Claire couldn’t quite identify (although she distantly understood she knew them) came skidding in after him, but stopped short just within the door. 

It was a bloody party in here. Get out. 

Those men looked scared too, frozen in place, eyes fixed on her. 

Why were they scared? 

Claire looked down and saw blood staining her entire shift. 

What the…?

A rush of fear broke through the soft cloud that surrounded her, like a torch illuminating the darkness. 

They were scared for her. She was dying. 

“Jamie?” she whimpered, looking up again in search of his face. 

“Right here, mo ghraidh, I’m right wi’ ye,” he said, and she fixed her sight on his face. He was sitting on the edge of the bed beside her. “That’s it. There’s a good lass. Eyes on me,” he encouraged. 

Claire felt his hand leave her chest, and something big and soft press against it instead. She wanted to look down and see who was doing it, but she was too focused on anchoring herself to the sight of Jamie. 

Her brain had broken free of the haze enough to tell her that this wasn’t good, but she still felt trapped in that grey mist, and her body felt a million miles away. 

“Jamie,” she forced out his name. 

Her heart skipped a beat as the thought came to her, but she needed to tell him. He had to know. If she was dying, she had to say it now. 

“Jamie, I love you.” 

She felt Jamie’s lips press against her head, distantly. 

“I love you, too. Promise ye’ll no’ leave me?” came his voice. 

But the blackness that had been encroaching on the edge of her vision was growing now, and the image of his face slowly dimmed. 

“I love you,” she said again. 

Had he heard her? She wasn’t sure she’d managed to say it outloud. 

“I love you,” she tried to force out, but she didn’t think her lips worked. 

“I… love you.” 

And then everything faded into a blissful black.

*** 

He couldn’t help it. As his wife weakly repeated that she loved him— over and over, tearing his insides out and twisting them viciously with every repetition, not seeming to hear his response of “I ken. I love you, too”— his panic had been growing, along with the need to do something. 

And when she’d lost consciousness, beautiful whiskey eyes rolling back into her head as she succumbed to the blood loss, all rational thought had flown from Jamie’s mind. He had cried out, in English or Gaelic he couldn’t have said, and scooped her limp, boneless body up into his arms. 

The bed was stained with blood. Nearly every inch of her shift was coated with it. Even Jamie had it smeared over every bit of his exposed skin. 

It made him feel sick. His stomach was roiling, the sharp tang of panic and bile mixed in his throat, warring for attention. 

Murtagh and Rupert had managed to slow the bleeding, putting pressure on the mysterious gashes on her chest and temple until it had slowed enough to bandage it. Angus had gone to the village to fetch Mistress Duncan, hoping she might have some wee herbs or something— anything— that could help. 

So Jamie was left helpless, holding his wife in his arms, seated in the middle of a blood-stained bed. 

His brain chose that moment to absurdly provide a memory. 

When his sister Jenny was young, she had a doll. Nothing more than a scrap of cloth fashioned into a circle on top for the heid, but precious to her nonetheless. She carried it with her everywhere, cradling it against her wee bosom and hugging it close. Jamie had never understood it. One day, on impulse (as bairns did), he had snatched it from her. He remembered vividly, despite being very young, how Jenny’s eyes went wide in panic and then quickly darkened in rage. She had pushed him down, tearing the doll from his hands, and then clutched to her chest with such ferocity for one so small. For what felt like weeks after that, she had refused to put it down for even a second, just pressing it harder and harder to her chest and hugging it protectively the moment anyone got near. 

Jamie hadn’t understood it until that very moment. 

His wife was limp as that rag doll, and he clutched her to him as if his world would shatter if they broke contact. 

She was his entire world— he realized with a start. He couldn’t lose her. He couldn’t.

And the deep, animalistic part of his brain told him that if he didn’t let go, if he didn’t let anyone near her, nothing could tear her away. 

“Sassenach,” he whispered brokenly. His voice held a plea of something deep inside. A longing for her to wake. To fix those beautiful whiskey eyes on him. To give him that wee smile she always did first thing in the morning. 

Murtagh was looking at him with an expression of something like pity that made Jamie’s blood boil. 

“Dinna jus’ stand there. We hafta do something,” Jamie gritted. 

“Jamie, lad,” Murtagh’s voice was sickeningly soft, “there isna anythin’ else any of us can do. We’ve done all we can fer now.” 

Jamie’s brain couldn’t seem to process that. 

Alarm bells went off, and his vision seemed to go red. To calm himself, he anchored his attention on the steady rise and fall of Claire’s chest. 

“Go get Mrs. Fitz,” he said in a low voice, barely maintaining the control needed not to lash out at his godfather. 

Murtagh dipped his head. He walked a little toward the door, and then stopped. “I’m sorry, lad. We’ll do all we can, I promise,” he said softly. 

Jamie clenched his jaw and looked away, hard. 

He spent the next 10 or so minutes staring down at his bride where she lay on his lap and praying over her in soft Gaelic. He felt frozen in place. 

He was broken out of the stillness of the empty room when Mrs. Fitz bustled in with her arms full of supplies. 

Jamie watched numbly as she set them down on the foot of the bed and then approached him. 

“Jamie, dearie, I need ye to let her go so I can work,” she said gently. Her hands were outstretched but not touching him, as if she was calming a spooked animal. 

Jamie supposed he kind of was. 

With the utmost care, he repositioned Claire in his arms so he could lay her gently on the bed. It pained him to lose the security of holding her, but Mrs. Fitz was hovering beside him, a lot more sane than he was at the moment. 

Shaking slightly, Jamie slid off of the bed and to his feet. He stood there for a long moment, just watching as Mrs. Fitz started to fuss over Claire’s bandages, feeling like he was teetering on the edge of a danger precipice. 

He felt dizzy looking at all that blood, Claire’s blood, and found he suddenly needed to look away. As he did, turning to face the other direction, he caught sight of the girl, Laoghaire, leaning against the doorframe, her lips tilted on one side into a smirk. 

Jamie had been held together by a tiny sliver of control ever since the moment Claire had lost consciousness. It wasn’t much, just a hair’s breadth of sanity wrapped around his storming emotions— fear and helplessness and anger and disbelief. At the sight of Laoghaire, that smug look on her face, the paper-thin band that held Jame together snapped, and what came pouring out of him was white-hot rage. 

He flew at her, slamming the girl through the doorway and onto the opposite wall of the hall, his forearm braced across her chest. 

“Ye did this, ye wicked wee bitch” Jamie heard himself growling. 

He hadn’t even realized that’s what his gut was telling him until he made the accusation. But the moment he did, the moment he saw the hatred glinting in her eyes, he could identify that knowing in the pit of his stomach. 

Laoghaire looked up at him with such insolence, such insane audacity to lift her chin at him and meet his eyes with startling calmness, despite the malice swimming within them. 

“I didna do this. But I wish I had,” she spat, “I hope the bitch bleeds to death. Ye’re mine by right, James Fraser. It seems only fair she suffers fer takin’ what’s mine.” 

Jamie was so taken aback by the horror of her words that he actually stumbled back a step, as if to distance himself from the vitriol pouring from her mouth. 

But as the words sunk in, Jamie snapped back to reality, and pushed her against the wall again. 

“Ye’ll no’ speak of her that way!” He roared, “now dinna lie to me. What are ye doin’ to her? What kind of black magic is this?” 

Laoghaire looked up at him with clenched teeth and eyes blue and still as a becalmed sea. 

“I’m no lyin’,” she said, very evenly, “This wasna my doin. But whatever or whoever it is has my thanks.” 

Jamie met her venomous gaze for a long, long moment, but found nothing but truth in her words. 

He deflated, his arm dropping limply from her shoulders to hang at his sides. He took a step back once— then another— and then quickly turned on his heel. 

“Get out of my sight,” he growled, praying to God that he never saw the wicked bitch again, for surely he’d kill her on the spot. 

With that, he walked in the room and slammed the door. 

He fell on his knees beside the bed, a startled Mrs. Fitz stepping quickly away from him. 

“God, dinna take her from me,” he prayed, feeling tired beyond all imagining. 

Helplessness swirled around him like a thick cloud, threatening to suffocate him. It had been mere days ago when he promised Claire they would get to the bottom of this. But he was no closer to stopping it-- to saving her-- than he had been then. 

Nothing was safe. 

Jamie bristled at the thought, suddenly overcome by the urge to shut the door and keep everyone out. Even that wouldn’t be enough, he knew. 

No, Jamie had to face this darkness head on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Full disclosure, the whole "it's your blood" thing was inspired by the pirate scene in Voyager, and the "I love you" thing was inspired (semi-stolen) from that one scene in Echo in Bone... *cries*, because those are two really good scenes, I wish Diana would have expanded them a little more. I have so many little half started fics that build on too-short book scenes that I end up writing therapeutically as I'm reading the books. Who knows, maybe one day I'll publish a little collection?
> 
> Thank you so much for your lovely comments and support, I hope you're continuing to enjoy!! I'm sorry for doing this to Claire, really, but don't worry, Jamie's determined to get to the bottom of it! Happy Thanksgiving to those in the U.S, I hope your holidays are blessed! <3


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Previously on "Am mallachd"...  
> Claire awakes to find blood on Jamie's shirt and frantically wakes him up, only for them to discover it's her blood. Claire loses consciousness slowly as Jamie, Murtagh, and the other highlanders work to save her life. While Mrs. Fitz tends to Claire, and Angus rushes to fetch Geillis from town, Jamie, at the end of his rope, confronts Laoghaire. She insists it wasn't her doing but she wishes it was. Jamie returns to Claire's bedside determined to get to the bottom of it.

Claire awoke feeling scared. She couldn’t identify why, but her skin was crawling and stomach clenched. She wanted to call out for Jamie, but her mouth felt like it was filled with cotton. She tried to swallow but didn’t find much success. The next stop in her catalogue was her arms, which felt unreasonably heavy. In fact, she found that she didn’t have the strength to move her body at all. 

The apprehension grew, and she struggled desperately to open her eyes. 

“Jamie?” She called, voice a mere croak. 

“Murtagh’s taken him for some air,” came a familiar lilting voice that she couldn’t quite put her finger on, “but it’s alright. Ye’re just fine now.” 

Claire’s foggy brain couldn’t quite comprehend what was happening, which didn’t help the panicked racing of her heart. She strained toward the dark corners of her mind, toward both awareness and memory, trying to remember the events of earlier and anchor herself to the present. But she found only confusion. 

Right. Calm down. First things first, Beauchamp. Where the hell are you? 

Claire peeled her eyes open and allowed them the necessary moment to adjust. The blurry picture gradually came into focus. 

She was in her and Jamie’s room— that much she knew. The second thing she noticed was the blood staining the sheets atop which she lay. The sight triggered an onslaught of fuzzy memories— waking up to find Jamie’s shirt bloody, his exclamation of it not being his blood, the spinning room, Jamie’s hand pressed to her chest, his terrified face…

Claire raised her head with a gasp as she remembered, trying to sit up in a panic. But she found she didn’t actually have the strength, and a whimper of pain escaped her. Thankfully, gentle hands caught her head and lowered her back down to the pillows. 

“Dinna try to move,” the voice said. 

Claire’s attention was brought back to the unknown figure beside her. 

She peeked through heavy-lidded eyes, and was taken aback by the sight that greeted her. 

“Letitia?” Claire rasped, and then suddenly amended, “I— Lady Mackenzie, I mean.” 

Letitia let out a slightly breathy laugh. “No need for formalities here, Claire, darling. You are my niece after all.” 

Letitia had a cool, wet cloth in her hand, and she began to dab it over Claire’s forehead, her touch motherly and soothing. 

Claire found herself at a loss for words. Her throat was so dry that speaking was a chore. Doing anything at all was a monumental effort, in fact. Her whole body felt weak and achy. She wanted nothing more than for Jamie to return and take her into his arms and whisper reassurances in her ear as she felt back to sleep nestled against him. 

But Letitia didn’t seem fazed by Claire’s inability to reply. 

“Ye gave us quite a scare, a leannan,” Letitia said as Claire let her eyes flutter closed when she soothed the cloth over her brow, “truly. I woke last night to a right stramash. Men shoutin’ all through the castle. It didna take long for me to hear you’d suffered some sort of accident, and I just hadta come check on ye. Do ye remember what happened, a leannan?” 

Claire was at a loss for an answer. This was no time for the truth, so she figured it was best to play dumb. 

She shook her head no, finding even that tiny movement to be difficult. 

“Oh, you piur thing,” Letitia tutted, “you must be terrified. I’d hate to think Leoch wasna a safe place for ye.” 

Claire was uninterested in Letitia’s sympathy. Her mind was quickly narrowing in on one thing only. Jamie. 

Thinking about the incident sent a familiar fear crawling it’s way up Claire’s spine, competing with the heavy exhaustion that weighed on her bones. She wanted nothing more than to close her eyes and sleep for weeks, but she couldn’t possibly without Jamie watching over her. 

Letitia seemed to notice her discomfort. “What’s amiss then?” She asked softly. 

Claire’s heart was starting to beat faster. “Will— will you get Jamie?” Her voice came out a weak plea. As her fear started to mount, she felt tears begin to prick at her eyes. 

“I’ll go fetch him, dinna fash,” Letitia said. 

And before Claire knew it, the lady was flitting from the room. 

**  
Meanwhile...  
**

Jamie whirled to face his Godfather, completely and utterly at the end of his rope. 

“I dinna need ‘air’, Murtagh. What I need is to be at my wife’s side,” he snapped. 

His Godfather, completely unfazed, just shoved him forward again, walking him down the hall. 

“You’ve been sittin’ wi’ her fer hours, lad,” Murtagh replied with aggravating calmness, “Claire is goin’ tae be fine. We’ve fixed her up and stopped the bleedin’, she just needs some rest. What we’re goin’ to do now is get some food and drink in ye, and then you’re goin’ tae explain to me what the hell is happenin’.” 

They did just that. 

Jamie barely could stomach down the food Murtagh shoved at him, but finally managed enough to satisfy the man. Then, Murtagh shoved Jamie out the door again and into a secluded outcove. 

There, he told him to get straight down to the story. 

Jamie explained everything to him— the full horror of the last couple weeks. The wiry Scot had stayed silent the whole time, listening with rapt attention. After Jamie finished, Murtagh stood in front of him, face dour and stony as ever. Silent. 

“Will ye say somethin’ already? I left Claire alone for Christ’s sake,” Jamie forced through closed throat. 

“I dinna ken, Jamie,” he finally said, voice pitched low and grave. 

Both men were silent for a second. 

“This is somethin’ dark, Murtagh,” Jamie broke the tension. 

“I ken,” he replied quietly. “Do ye think it’s an ill wish?” 

“I thought the same at first. But I checked ‘neath our bed and tore apart her surgery. No, this is different somehow.” 

“Aye. These arena random occurrences,” Murtagh broke in, “someone means ye harm and kens exactly how to do it.”

Jamie’s blood ran cold. Of course he had known that was the case, deep inside of him, but to hear his Godfather speak it aloud brought a certain reality to it. 

“Who would want to do Claire harm?” Murtagh prodded. 

Jamie ran his hands through his curls in frustration, letting out a sigh. 

“I dinna ken. I thought it was Laoghaire, that she was jealous. But when I confronted her, she told me it wasna her. She looked into my eyes, Murtagh. There was hate there, aye, but I kent she was tellin’ me true.” 

Murtagh took a few paces back, thick brows furrowed in deep thought. 

Jamie felt hopelessness well up inside him again. He let his back fall against the wall and buried his face in his hands. 

“Even if we kent who it was, how do we stop them?” The question bubbled up from Jamie. 

Murtagh turned and faced him with such suddenness that Jamie looked up. 

“It minds me… I’ve heard stories…” he started tentatively. He broke off, shaking his head. “I’m a learned man, mind. I never put stock in such things as black magic, as ye ken many folk do. But this…”

“Aye,” Jamie affirmed, nodding for his godfather to continue. 

“They say that a witch can bring harm using the likeness of someone. Something close to them, aye? Like a piece of clothing or hair. What happens to the likeness happens…”

“To Claire,” Jamie filled in, “How can ye stop it?”

“Fire,” Murtagh answered simply, letting his shoulder rise and fall with a slump, “destroy it.” 

“Would… would it no’ hurt Claire?” The thought of Claire experiencing the effects of burning grew a lump of horror in Jamie’s throat. 

Murtagh shook his head. “No, no, it wouldna harm the lass, as long as it destroys the likeness.” 

“Then that’s what we do,” Jamie said firmly. 

The thought of this sent chills down Jamie’s spine, but at the same time, he felt more empowered than he had in days. He had a purpose. 

“So we hafta find out exactly who is doin’ this, and then we burn it.” 

Murtagh nodded gravely. 

“I’ll do some digging, you go back to yer wife now,” he said with an uncharacteristic softness. 

Jamie didn’t have to be told twice. He ached with the separation, with the fear for her. He left Murtagh behind with a thanks and anxiously made his way back to their chamber in a half-run. 

Before he got there, however, he ran smack dab into Angus. 

“Jamie!” His friend exclaimed, taking a step back in surprise, “I was jus’ lookin fer ye.” 

“Have ye brought Mistress Duncan?” Jamie asked, his breath coming in anxious pants, “is she tendin’ to Claire?” 

Angus shook his head, and the expression on his face made Jamie’s heart clench for a moment. 

“Mistress Duncan wasna there,” he explained, “and her maid couldna say where she was.” 

Jamie stiffened. Of all the things going wrong today, could Geillis not simply do one thing right and be where she ought? 

“Is Claire well then?” Angus asked tentatively, displaying an uncharacteristic solemnity. 

“I dinna ken,” Jamie gritted, trying hard not to take out his frustration on the wee clansmen, “she would be better if Mistress Duncan could see to her.” 

Angus look abashed and lowered his eyes to the floor. “I’m sorry, Jamie. I didna ken what else to do after she wasna to home nor anywhere else in the village.” 

Jamie felt a wave of shame seeing that Angus truly had tried. 

“I’m sorry, a charaid, tis no’ yer fault,” Jamie said, much more calmly as he laid his hand on the man’s shoulder, “thank ye for yer help. I must be gettin’ back to my wife.” 

With no more than a shared nod, Jamie was on his way again. 

He had made it only a short way before he ran nearly straight into Letitia Mackenzie. 

He managed to skid to a stop before he ran smack into the lady, and gave her a little half-bow. Thankfully, she had nothing to say to him, it seemed, because she just gave him a courteous nod and silently went on her way. 

His path once more unobstructed, Jamie made for the stairs leading up toward his rooms. He was eager to be back to Claire and prayed silently that she was alright. 

He hadn’t even made it another three steps before he ran straight into a small form, colliding with their body with great force in his distraction. 

Christ, was this whole castle tryin’ to get in his way? 

He placed steady hands on the shoulders in front of him, and was startled to find familiar green eyes looking up at him from under her hood. 

“Mistress Duncan!” he exclaimed in shock, and then quickly remembered his manners just enough to add, “beggin’ yer pardon fer nearly taken ye off yer feet.” 

“No matter,” Geillis said, bringing a pale hand up to swipe off the hood of her cloak. 

Jamie was just beginning to open his mouth to ask her to come to check on Claire when a queer feeling stirred in his wame and caught the words in this throat. Meeting that cold green gaze, the hairs bristled on the back of Jamie’s neck. He felt himself backtracking, his mind fixed on the conversation he had just had with Murtagh about witches and black magic. 

“What brings ye to the castle then, Mistress?” He kept his voice casual and polite. 

“Personal business.” Her answer held equal forced nonchalance, and she punctuated her statement with a sly smile that made Jamie’s chest feel tight. 

His brain was racing a mile a minute, trying to decide what to do. Geillis apparently hadn’t heard about Claire, or surely she would be inquiring after her friend. And the decision about whether to tell her was made firmly and suddenly by the queer feeling twisting inside him. 

“I wilna keep ye then,” he dismissed with a polite bob of the head. 

Geillis returned it with a half-curtsey, and then she was disappearing down the hall. 

Jamie all but ran up the stairs toward his room. He wasn’t sure what that interaction had been, but his suspicions were well and truly roused. 

He forced himself to calm down before entering the room. He didn’t have concrete evidence yet, and there was no need to worry Claire was his anxious energy. 

But one thing he knew for certain was that he’d be paying a visit to the house of the fiscal’s wife in the very near future. 

Stamping down any remaining disquiet within himself, he pushed open the door. 

Jamie made his way into the room quietly to find Claire asleep. All of the buzzing of thought and worry quieted as he took in sight of her curled on her side underneath the blankets. He sat down feather-light on the side of the bed, careful to make no impact that would jostle her, and leaned down to press a long, gentle kiss to her forehead. 

“I’m here, mo ghraidh,” he said softly, hoping that the words might penetrate her dreams. 

He brushed back her curls and stared down at her with a longing in his heart. 

She was so heartbreakingly beautiful. Her skin was pale, dark circles rimmed her eyes, and there were lines of pain etched into the creases of her face. Even so, Christ!-- she was the most beautiful woman Jamie had ever seen. And he ached with loving her. 

He noticed the water that he had placed on the wee table beside the bed was half gone. He swelled with joy at the evidence that she had been awake, and well enough to drink besides. He instantly recoiled in guilt, however, at the thought that she woke up afraid and alone while he was nowhere to be found. But he was here now, and he finally had a clear plan on how to keep her safe. 

As he stroked her hair, watching her breathe in and out, an unusual sense of peace descended over Jamie. The room was silent and still. Claire was alive, here with him, and she would be well again. Jamie wanted nothing more than to take her in his arms. But there would be time enough for that when she was better. For now, he would simply watch over her. 

He rose from the bed and walked around it so that he could slide in next to her. But as he lifted up the blanket, he was greeted with the sight of the blood stained sheets beneath. 

His heart leapt to his throat at the stark reminder. He wished he could rip the sheets off the bed— he’d been wishing that since the moment that things had calmed, but he didn’t want to move Claire in this state. 

His hand shaking slightly, he lowered the blanket to once again cover the blood-stained linen. He looked to the chair at the bedside, and decided on that instead. 

Jamie was dead tired, having been awake for countless hours on end. He sunk into the chair, brought it that much closer to the bed, and settled himself down for another fruitless attempt at rest. 

No, he wouldn’t get any real sleep until Claire was safe, that much he knew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For some reason I found this chapter difficult to will into existence. But after a good ol' fluff break working on updating another story (Feel free to check out Adso Tails if you want something fluffy... (shameless self promo)), I got down to it. I was worried about pacing this chapter, but in the end, I just needed to bust it out and post. I'd love to hear your thoughts!
> 
> Thank you so, so much to all of you for your support, it means so much to me!! Another update coming soon :)


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Previously on “Am mallachd”...
> 
> Claire awakes and is tended to by Letitia Mackenzie. Meanwhile, Jamie and Murtagh discuss a theory-- a witch can cause harm to another through the use of their likeness. Murtagh assures him the likeness can be destroyed by fire. As Jamie returns to Claire, he first runs into Angus, who tells him that Geillis was not at home, and he then runs into Geillis herself, who evades his question about what she was doing at the castle. Finally, Jamie makes it to Claire’s bedside, and he settles in to watch over her.

“Jamie?” Claire had opened bleary eyes to find her husband’s mass of curly-red hair tickling her arm. His head was laid on the side of the bed, and he was slumped over in his chair, one hand still grasping Claire’s and the other pillowing his head. 

She felt a rush of affection for him, and extricated her hand from his in order to gently pet his curls. 

_God, even that tiny movement seemed to sap her strength._

At her call and her touch, Jamie’s head jerked up, red-ringed eyes meeting hers. 

“Sassenach!” his exclamation was pure joy, and she knew that her answering smile (albeit tired) held that same joy. 

He leaned down and pressed a kiss to her forehead. When he rose up again, studying her face with soft, searching eyes, he asked quietly, “are ye alright then, mo nighean donn?” 

Her first thought was not an answer to his question. It wasn’t even a rush of affection for him (although that was still carefully tucked in the back of her mind as it always was.) The first thing that struck Claire, very suddenly, was how _young_ Jamie was. 

Her husband was a highland warrior, an 18th century man who had been forced to grow up far too early. He was responsible, protective, even cunning. He always acted with such care and wisdom that it was easy for Claire to forget his age. But just in that moment, as he looked at her with fearful eyes still rimmed with sleep and the remnants of what had likely been tears, Claire saw the little boy in him that was terrified of losing the one he loved. 

She was overcome by the urge to protect him as fiercely as she knew he longed to protect her. And it was much stronger than the pain racking her body. 

“I’m alright, Jamie,” she reassured. 

Jamie’s smile was so bright that Claire thought she could live off it forever with no use for the sun. He leaned down and pressed that smile to her lips, kissing her with exceeding gentleness while pouring out his relief and love for her. Claire kissed him back best as she could. She wished for nothing more than to throw her arms around him and hold him close, but she yet lacked the strength. 

Still, she may not have been able to comfort him physically as she yearned to do, but she could be strong for him. 

When he pulled back, she settled more against the pillows, disguising her grimace of pain as the tiny movement aggravated the wound on her chest. Jamie, thankfully, didn’t seem to notice. 

“Are _you_ alright, darling?” Claire asked. 

She raised a hand to gently caress his cheek. She placed the back of her fingers on the edge of his jaw and then slid them soothingly along his stubble, stroking back and forth from chin to where his jaw met curls. 

“Am _I_ alright?” Jamie asked, incredulous, “Christ, lass. You were the one who nearly bled to death in my arms.” 

“But I didn’t,” Claire said softly, “I’m alright. But you had to go through all of it, too. You must have been terrified.” 

Jamie’s eyes swam with emotion, his pupils dilated in the dark room. He looked nearly ready to cry. 

“Oh my sweet lass,” he whispered, “ye’re the strongest woman I’ve ever kent. To be worrit about me at a time like this,” he shook his head a little, as if in disbelief. 

Claire let her hand drop from his face, and he then took it in both of his hands and raised it to his lips where he pressed a long kiss to her fingers. 

When he looked back up and her, he saw she was still looking at him expectantly, intent on hearing his answer. 

His eyes dropped, and he played with her fingers where they were twined with his and resting on the bed. He finally spoke. 

“Aye. I was terrified for ye. To wake up, and see blood dripping all down yer face… and then ye fell into my arms. Only for a gash to open on yer chest before my eyes.” His gaze was distant, as if he was seeing it all over again. “I thought ye would bleed to death in our bed as I held ye against me.”

He looked up at her and she saw that his eyes shone with unshed tears. But foremost on his face was a spreading expression of relief. 

“I’m so grateful God didna take ye from me that night,” he ended in a hoarse whisper. 

Claire nodded in sympathy. He looked a little abashed at sharing that much with her so soon, but Claire had known he needed to get it off his chest. Still, there was something else lingering in the back of his eyes. 

“What is it? What else is wrong, Jamie?” she prompted. 

He shook his head. “I’ve worrit ye enough with my daft ramblings. I shouldna even have said so much as I did. Ye’re still recoverin’.” 

Claire was not the type of woman to give up so easily. Even lying on sheets still stained with her blood, she wasn’t content to let it go. 

“Jamie, I’m fine,” she said pointedly, “and I’m your wife. We can’t possibly get through this alone. _We have to carry it together._ Now tell me what’s troubling you.” 

Jamie looked at her for a long moment. She could tell he was struggling inside himself with whether or not to lay his problems on her shoulders. Finally, though, his shoulders slumped. 

“It’s only…” he shook his head, a look of something like frustration flashing over his features, “I sat at yer side for hours. Praying. Hoping. And the whole time, I couldna help but feel it was my fault. I’m yer husband, Claire. I’m supposed to protect you. I _promised_ you the protection of my body, my life. And yet I didna do anythin’ to stop this. I just stood by and let ye suffer.” 

Claire’s heart broke at the anguish on his face and in his voice. He couldn’t seem to bring himself to meet her eyes, so she lifted her hand again to tilt his face upward toward her. 

“Jamie,” she said, voice both gentle and firm, “you can’t blame yourself, my love. We have no idea what’s happening, there’s nothing you could have done.” 

He shifted, his gaze detaching from hers. 

Alarm bells went off in her head, and she had enough adrenaline to allow her to straighten up a little on the pillows where she was propped. 

“Jamie,” she said again, “what is it?” 

He sighed, apparently not going to fight her more. “I didna want to worry ye so soon. But I believe I may have an idea of what is happenin’, although that is the extent of it. An idea.” 

A rush of hope swelled in Claire’s heart for the first time in weeks. 

“Tell me!” she insisted. 

Jamie shook his head immediately, “no, mo nighean donn. Ye’re too weak. I cannae burden ye further than I already have. Ye need yer rest.” 

“Bullshit,” She said, trying to prop herself up on her elbows (as if proving herself able to sit up would convince Jamie she could handle this new development). 

But as she did, a wave of dizziness overtook her. Her head fell backward against the headboard and hit with a thunk. Claire saw stars as agony exploded in her head. 

Based on the gasp Jamie let out, it pained him nearly as much as her. 

Big hands were reaching around to cradle her head and gently lower her back to the pillows. 

“Maybe take a wee rest, aye?” Jamie suggested, his voice muffled by the ringing in her ears, “I’ll go and get ye a bit of soup. Maybe when ye wake we can talk a bit more.” 

Claire’s head was throbbing now, a renewed _thump thump thump_ that had previously been in the background but now filled nearly her entire awareness. 

All of the fight had gone out of her, and she suddenly didn’t care about whatever Jamie had discovered. 

“Okay,” she whispered, finding her voice frustratingly feeble. 

Jamie pressed a long kiss to her forehead, and then he was gone. 

***

Claire awoke feeling much worse than she had before. She had the distinct sensation that something heavy was sitting in her chest and her head was about to explode. 

More than that, all the emotions she’d been holding in for what felt like weeks— fear, pain, anger, helplessness— bombarded her fatigued brain with a sudden ferocity. 

_Pull yourself together, Beauchamp_. 

She was quite aware she was spiraling. Alone in the room— (Jamie must have stepped out—) she wanted desperately to cry, but she knew if she let it out, she’d never manage to pull herself together again. From her medical experience, she was aware that physical and emotional exhaustion went hand and hand. She wondered which came first in her situation. Something like a chicken or egg scenario. 

Claire focused on her breathing. _In… out…_ she narrated in her mind. 

She was strong, damn it, she could handle this. A little headache and blood loss wouldn’t make her lose her mind. 

To her relief, the careful veil of control began to descend again. As she took stock of her body, she found her breath coming easier. She could do this. 

The weight of… _everything…_ still felt tight like a crushing vice around her chest, but she could bear it. 

Claire had just finished giving herself a talking to when Jamie entered the room. 

“Did ye rest well, a nighean? He asked cheerfully upon finding her awake. 

“Just fine,” she said, despite the aching exhaustion still pulling at her, “what did you bring, darling?” 

“Jus’ a wee bit o’ broth,” he answered as he set it down on the table. He perched on the chair next to her bed and slid a hand under her shoulder blades. The other cupped her head, and he lifted her up onto the pillows so she was sitting upright. 

Jamie cared for her tenderly in the following minutes— placing water at her lips and patiently allowing her to sip. Then, he held the bowl of broth in front of her as she grasped the spoon in her shaking hand and lifted it to her mouth. She ate as much as she could, but found she could only stomach a few bites. 

When she had released the spoon (her arm dropping back to the bed in relief), Jamie was studying her face intently. His slanted blue eyes held that familiar _knowing_. 

“How are ye, mo chridhe?” 

“I-“ the words died in Claire’s throat as the familiar fear came rushing back to the surface, threatening to overwhelm her. 

_God, she’d been holding it together for what felt like so long. And she was so… tired._

Her lower lip trembled, and she clamped her mouth tightly shut in order to hold all the emotion inside. _Hold it together, Beauchamp, you’re fine_. 

Jamie, of course, had noticed instantly. He raised a hand up to just barely stroke her cheek with the backs of his fingers, asking in a voice so gentle that she couldn’t possibly stay strong, “ _May I hold ye, mo nighean donn_?” 

The dam broke. Tears came rushing down her cheeks and she nodded frantically. 

Before she knew it, Jamie was up in the bed next to her and pulling her into his arms. 

The movement hurt. The gash on her chest ached as she burrowed into his embrace. But the warmth of him was even better. One of his arms wrapped around her waist, and the other pressed her head into the crook of his neck. His shirt was open just there, and she pressed her closed eyes against the heat of his skin and wet it with her tears. 

She shook in his arms as she fell to pieces, and he wrapped her tighter as if the force of it could still her trembling and block out her fear. His hand was stroking her hair now, fingers carding though wild curls, and his other hand was splayed over her lower back, warm and grounding. 

He was making small shushing sounds and reassuring Gaelic phrases as he pressed kisses to the top of her head. 

“I’m here, a leannan,” he told her, “I’m right here. And I’ll see ye safe.” 

She was too tired to pull back and look up at him. If she had the strength, she would have raised her tear-stricken face and demanded he explain just _how_ he could do that. 

But a freeing revelation suddenly struck her. She trusted him. She was safe with him. Whatever was going on, he was going to get to the bottom of it. She didn’t have to go at this alone anymore. She had told him earlier that they had to carry this together— and they were. But just now, when she was at her worst, she trusted him to carry _her._ That was marriage, wasn’t it? 

Tension flowed from Claire’s muscles, and she let Jamie hold her upright against him. Her breathing slowed as she grounded herself in the solid security that was her husband. 

She let herself be broken, knowing he’d pick up all her pieces. 

*

Jamie held Claire for what felt to him like hours, rocking minutely back and forth, whispering sweet nothings into her hair. Her body trembled where it laid over him, but gradually, her sobs began to subside and she stilled. 

She must have been beyond exhausted. Her body was nearly boneless against him now, lacking even the strength to reposition herself. He hoped she was comfortable. 

He was reassured by her breathing, which was slowing into an even rhythm. He lost himself in his murmured reassurances for a second, and the next time he looked down, he realized she had fallen asleep. 

Poor wee thing. 

He smiled bitter-sweetly to himself. He wished he could tell her everything he knew, share his fears and suspicions. But not yet. Holding his wee wife as she slept was the only thing that mattered just now. He’d see to the rest later. 

*

Jamie had just managed to doze off, still propped against the headboard with Claire cradled in his arms, when he suddenly felt her jerk. 

He thought at first that it was another… _attack…_ but he realized quickly that this wasn’t the case. He knew what this was. 

Claire let out a tiny moan from deep in her throat, and her head snapped to the other side on his chest. 

Jamie wrapped his arms around her more securely, trying to soothe her, but she was caught in her nightmare. 

It broke his heart that she couldn’t find rest and safety even in sleep. 

“Wake up, a leannan,” he gently shook her shoulder, “it’s just a dream. Come back to me now, mo ghraidh.” 

Claire stirred again, a whimper tearing his heart even further. But she didn’t wake. 

Her hand clutched at his shirt, fingers curling tightly, as if she could save herself by just holding on to him. 

“Claire, wake up,” he tried again. 

This time, her head jerked up, and he saw her eyes wide and disoriented from the soft light of the moon. 

“It was just a dream, mo nighean donn. Ye’re right here, wi’ me, and ye’re safe,” he told her quietly. 

Her wide-eyed gaze fixed on him and he could tell she was processing, grounding herself to reality once again. 

“It’s alright,” he whispered. 

Her face buckled at his words, and her body collapsed down against him again as if she couldn’t hold herself up any longer. 

He felt her chest heaving in silent sobs against him. 

“It was just a dream,” he repeated, lacking anything else to tell her. 

“This time…” she seemed barely conscious as she spoke. But then her voice broke as she whispered out, “ _I’m so scared._ ” 

“I ken. I am, too. But dinna fash about that now. You’re exhausted, a nighean. Rest yer head. I’ll watch over ye and keep ye safe. I promised, did I no’? Yer first night at Leoch.” His voice dropped with the sacredness of the promise, “I _will_ protect you, Claire. 

She sniffled a little, nuzzling her tear-stained face against his chest. 

He could tell she was fighting against the pull of sleep. She was so scared to surrender herself to the demons of her mind and fears. Jamie ran his hand up and down her back, trying to remind her that he was there, and he wouldn’t let anything happen to her. 

It wasn’t long before he felt her drifting off again. The lass was at the end of her rope, he knew. She was weak from her injuries, terrified from the unknown danger, and paralyzed with helplessness. But Jamie knew what to do now. 

As he held his sleeping wife (he wouldn’t have dreamed of moving in a million years), he allowed his mind to mull over all the possible threats that loomed around them. 

***

When the morning came, after Jamie managed to force a wee bit of food and drink into Claire, the time came for him to tell her what he’d found out. 

She looked at him with wide, expectant whisky eyes as he began his story. Propped up on the pillows, hair wild around her and color returned to her cheeks after a good night’s rest, Jamie found himself distracted. He paused in his story to reach out and take her hand in his. 

He explained the whole conversation with Murtagh. About his godfather’s theory of “the likeness”, how it worked, and how to destroy it. 

Claire, to her credit, took it all in stride. She listened patiently and nodded along with him. He could tell she was struggling against her disbelief in that kind of magic. But all the pieces fit together, it was undeniable, and he could tell her mind was coming to that exact conclusion. 

Finally, Jamie got to the part of the story that made his mouth go dry. 

Claire looked at him, perplexed.

“What else is there, Jamie?” she asked. She always could intuit when he was wrestling with something. 

Jamie took a calming breathing and steeled himself. 

“Claire. I ken ye dinna want to hear this,” Jamie kept his voice level while entreating her to hear him out, “But I think Geillis may be involved. I sent Rupert to fetch her directly after… after-“ Jamie’s words died in his throat, but he chose to press on, “but she wasna to home. She wasna anywhere in Cranesmuir, in fact. I found out she was here, Claire. In the castle. And she wouldna tell me what she was doin’. I feel it in my bones that she’d involved, Sassenach.” 

Claire wrestled with his declaration for a long moment. Jamie could read her glass face like a book. Emotions and thoughts flitted across her face. Jamie knew she was struggling. Geillis was supposed to be her friend; the lass had been there for her when first she arrived, scared and alone. How could she do something like this to her? And why? 

After a long moment of silence, Claire said very slowly, “I trust you, Jamie. I trust your instinct. Let me talk to her. Maybe I can figure out why—“

Jamie was shaking his head violently, and he brought his hand up to grasp her wrist. It was a gentle touch, but with firm enough intentions to cut her off. 

“No. No, mo nighean donn. I cannae allow her in the room wi’ you— alone. And certainly not in yer condition. I willna risk you.” 

Claire’s eyes held that all-too familiar gleam of resistance. She clenched her jaw, a sure sign of her stubbornness coming out to war with his. 

“I am more than capable—“

“I ken _ye’re_ capable,” Jamie said with a hint of exasperation, “but Sassenach. Ye nearly bled to death two days ago. Ye dinna need to be confrontin’ yer would-be killer.” 

“Jamie—“

“No,” Jamie’s voice broke, betraying him as his emotion bled from fierce protection into fear, “I canna leave ye to do that.” 

“Will you listen to me for one moment?” Claire said, voice edged with impatience. 

Jamie closed his mouth and nodded. 

“I’ve spent time with her since this began, Jamie. If she wanted to do me harm directly, she had the chance. We can _use_ this. I can play up my condition and see if I can get her to reveal anything. Jamie, you know me. I can’t just sit by and do nothing. I have to fight to end this. Please.” 

She looked up at him with those big whisky eyes, and he could see her begging him to understand. 

The lass had a point. There was likely not much direct danger of harm just from speaking to Geillis. As long as she was careful...

 _“I’m asking you to trust me on this.”_

Her soft request drove the nail into Jamie’s coffin. 

“Aye,” he acquiesced, “aye.” He took a deep breath. “I’ll send word for her to come tend tae ye.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should be working on a million other things buuuut here I am. Whoops. 
> 
> Ahh, the good ol’ Jamie guilt complex and Claire trying to go it alone. But nothing that can't be solved with a little communication and mutual support <3
> 
> Hang with me friends, things are ramping up! I’ll probably be posting the next chapter on Sunday because I’ll still be procrastinating on all the work I should be doing. I hope you enjoyed, and thank you a million for your kudos and lovely comments! It blows my mind!!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Previously on "Am mallachd"...  
> Jamie returns to the room to reunite with Claire. He feels guilty, but Claire convinces him that he isn't to blame. Claire tries to hold herself together, but after a day of battling her demons alone, she breaks down in front of Jamie. They both find comfort in each other. Finally, Jamie fills Claire in on his discovery about the likeness and his suspicions about Geillis, and Claire convinces Jamie that she needs to talk to her to try to get answers. 
> 
> (By the way, if anyone noticed when I first posted, I originally planned out 7 chapters, but this story has a life of its own and I needed to let it take its time, so it'll be more, depending on where the story takes me. Don't worry, this definitely isn't the last one).

The following day arrived far too quickly for Jamie’s taste. 

“I’ll be jus’ outside if ye need me, alright, a nighean?” Jamie said as he leaned down to kiss Claire’s forehead. 

“It’ll be fine, Jamie.”

Her wee hand gave Jamie’s a reassuring squeeze. 

He started toward the door and managed to take all of two steps before he was turning on his heel and whirling around to face her again. 

His stomach was coiled in knots, and he couldn’t seem to bring himself to leave her. 

Claire, apparently seeing the struggle written across his face, was already speaking before he could open his mouth. 

“I’m okay, darling. We talked about this. Nothing’s going to happen to me.” 

As Jamie reached out for her again, his hands trembled, as if he couldn’t contain the tension running through his body. He cradled her head in his hands and leaned down to press his forehead to hers. 

He closed his eyes and focused on breathing, sharing the air with his wife and pulling himself together. 

“I trust ye, Sassenach. It’s jus’ that this goes against every instinct.” He said as he tilted his face and squeezed his eyes shut more tightly. 

He felt a hand cup his jaw and he opened his eyes. 

“I can do this. I’ll call for you if I need you,” she said with wide, earnest eyes. 

Jamie nodded against her forehead and bridged the distance between them to press one last indulgent kiss to her lips. 

“Be careful, Sassenach,” he breathed. 

Then, without another look at her (because surely he’d lose the will to leave her in the hands of someone who meant her harm if he looked back at her), he left the room. 

*

Geillis had sent word she’d come around noon, but neither of them could say for sure when she might arrive at their chamber. 

Claire had an odd feeling in the pit of her stomach all morning. It wasn’t fear, as Jamie’s so clearly was, but more like a desire to reach closure and anxiety that she wouldn’t actually be able to get any answers. 

She trusted Jamie’s instinct. She’d learned in these past few months of marriage not to doubt it, because it always seemed to lead them well. When he had told her he suspected Geillis, it had been hard to take— the woman was her friend after all— but she believed him about her strange behavior. All Claire wanted now was to get some answers. 

_Why the hell would she be doing this?_

Her thoughts were interrupted as the hooded figure of Geillis Duncan holding a basket in the crook of her arm swept into the room, closing the door behind her. 

Claire quickly closed her eyes, remembering the strategy to play up her vulnerability in an effort to ease the woman. 

“Claire-“ Geillis started to greet, but cut herself off with a little “oh.” 

With that, Claire opened her eyes, blinking blearily up at her. 

“I’m sorry, hen, did I wake ye?” Geillis cooed. She sat herself down in the chair next to the bed that Jamie usually occupied. 

“It’s alright,” Claire slurred, rubbing her eyes. She pushed up on her elbows a bit, but then allowed herself to fall back to the pillows. 

Geillis quickly reached for a pillow on the other side of the bed and helped position it under Claire’s shoulder so she could sit up a little more. 

“Thank you for coming,” Claire said, making her voice sound raspy, “I hoped you might know of something that could help my condition.” 

“Oh Claire, of course I’m here. I was absolutely _appalled_ to hear about yer accident.” 

Claire blinked. Her mind raced, churning over the best way to play the situation. She decided to go along with it. 

“Accident? What exactly did you hear?” 

Geillis leveled the force of her green stare at her. 

“Why, the whole castle is gabbin’ about it. But everyone seems to have a different story, so I dinna ken which is true. Will ye tell me the real one, Claire?” 

Her stomach flipped. Her anxiety was suddenly mounting as the conversation went on. Geillis was clearly playing dumb, but Claire could see a _knowing_ sparkling in those green eyes. It made her skin crawl, and she suddenly knew exactly what Jamie had meant when he said he had a bad feeling about her. 

“I’m sorry, Geillis. I don’t much feel up to telling the story,” she said breathily. 

“Oh, of course ye dinna feel up to it. I’m sorry fer askin’ ye everything’ right the moment I see ye. Tell me, how do ye feel?” Geillis' voice was sickly sweet. 

“Honestly? Terrible,” Claire answered, playing it up. 

“Oh my puir darlin’, of course ye are.. Here, I have some wee herbs that might help wi’ the pain…” 

Geillis started to reach into her basket, and Claire was overcome with the unease. She couldn't take what Geillis gave her unless she was completely sure what it was. Even then, there was no telling what could have been done to a familiar herb. Claire had to avoid taking anything Geillis gave her at all cost. 

“Ah, here!” Geillis said, holding up what looked to Claire like marshmallow leaf, “this should help wi’ the pain.” 

Claire coughed, and then winced-- for real this time-- at the discomfort in her chest. 

“I’ll ask Jamie to make me some tea when he returns. Is that marshmallow leaf?” 

“You know yer herbs, my dear girl,” Geillis said with a smirk. 

Something about the odd smile made Claire certain she would throw the leaf away immediately after Geillis left.

“I’m tired of talking about this stuff. It’s all anyone can bring up around me anymore. Tell me about you?” Claire said. 

Geillis gave a little wave of her hand. 

“I’ve been at home. Being a fiscal’s wife has its duties, ye ken?” 

Claire gave a little chuckle. “We both know you don’t do _certain_ duties.” 

“Course not!” Geillis said. 

Claire let the silence hang between them for a second. She wasn’t certain if provoking her was the best course of action, but so far, she’d revealed nothing concrete. 

“So you’ve been at home? Jamie told me he saw you at the castle the other day. What were you doing here?” 

Geillis looked away, a shadow falling over her face. 

“Oh… nothing,” she said casually, “just… retrieving something of mine.” 

Claire knew the sound of a blow-off excuse when she heard one. Geillis clearly wasn’t going to tell her the real reason she was there-- which was becoming more and more clear to Claire by the second that it was a sinister one. 

Everything seemed overwhelming all of a sudden and she found that she didn’t have a single idea how to proceed in the conversation. 

Thankfully, Geillis filled it for her. 

“Claire. It’s a terrible thing that this keeps happening to ye. Ye really should be more careful and stop hurtin’ yerself.” 

Claire’s blood ran cold, and she wanted nothing more than to call for Jamie and have him rush into the room. 

Instead, she mumbled something like “I will,” and laid her head down on the pillow. She fluttered her eyes as if struggling against sleep. 

“Ye’re exhausted and in pain, hen. Perhaps I should leave ye to yer rest.” 

“Thank you, Geillis, for coming. And for the marshmallow leaf. It was nice to see a friend,” Claire murmured. 

“Goodbye, Claire,” Geillis said, her voice startlingly even rather than its usual sing-song. 

Relief rushed through her as she watched Geillis walk out from the room, the door shutting behind her with a note of finality. 

It must have taken a minute for Jamie to make sure the coast was clear and come out of his hiding place in the hall, because Claire was left alone with her thoughts for a few seconds before her husband entered the room. 

She sighed, and the tension finally melted from her trembling muscles. 

He looked down at her, the question clear in his eyes as he crossed the room and took her hand. 

Claire returned his gaze solemnly. 

“Something’s going on.” 

***

Jamie left his wife reluctantly, but thankfully Murtagh had met them and offered to stay with her. Directly after Geillis’ visit, Claire had recounted the story to him and noted the same queer feeling of suspicion that plagued Jamie’s wame. Claire had told him he needed to go, because Geillis could have still been in the castle. And so, Jamie had been sent out to investigate. 

He wandered around the castle aimlessly. He had no idea where the witch would go if she was still in there, but he was determined to do anything he possibly could to get answers. 

Claire had been shaken by the experience of talking with Geillis, he could tell. It made Jamie’s heart ache to think about how it must have made her feel to sit helpless in front of someone while her former trust turned into fear. That made anger stir inside him like hot coals. 

_Why the hell had Geillis done this_? 

Jamie hadn’t found any sign of the slippery lass, so he was ready to declare defeat for the night. He’d figure out a way to get into Geillis’ house and search for the likeness the next day. 

At that particular moment, however, all he wanted was to grab some food and be with his wife. 

He headed for the kitchens, making his way downstairs. 

A thought struck him suddenly that made him change direction. Claire had thrown out the marshmallow leaf Geillis had brought her, but she had said that marshmallow leaf _was_ the right thing to help with pain. He could pop down to her surgery to grab some for her. No one would be there to help him find it, of course, with Claire being injured it had sat empty for days, but he was confident that he could track it down. 

He strode down the steps to find the door already open. 

Just as he was about to enter, the scene inside made him freeze in his tracks and his blood run cold. 

He stumbled silently backward and around the corner, then pressed himself flat against the wall, his chest heaving in shock. 

_What the hell?!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whooops, that's a cliffhanger. Sorry about that... 
> 
> Last chapter was very much relational, this chapter was heavily plot centric. It felt a little like a bridging chapter to me and therefore was difficult to write, but these things had to happen to set up next chapter (which hopefully will be up soon so I don't leave you on this cliffhanger for too long). 
> 
> Love to you all! Thank you again for taking time to invest in this story!!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! A next-day update because I didn't want to leave you in too much suspense, my beloved readers. I hope you enjoy!!
> 
> Previously...  
> Claire confronts Geillis, but discovers little concrete evidence that would be helpful. Jamie returns and she shares her suspicions, only to send Jamie back out after Geillis in case she remained in the castle. After searching for a while, Jamie decides to go down to Claire's surgery for some herbs. But the scene inside sends him reeling...

Jamie stood plastered to the wall, trying in vain to get his heart to stop racing and his brain to work again. 

The image of the scene he had just witnessed swirled around in his head. He knew it would be scorched into his memory forever. 

Dougal and Letitia Mackenzie-- locked in a passionate kiss. 

The gears in his brain were grinding relentlessly. _Dougal and Letitia were having an affair? Under Colum’s very nose?_

He heard a commotion and a little scuffling inside. Jamie crept slightly closer and strained to hear what was going on while remaining hidden in the shadows around the corner. 

“Dougal,” Letitia whined, “we need to talk about this.” 

“What’s there to talk about? The lad’s head over heels for her. I’m tellin’ ye, he willna stay if he thinks she’s in danger.” 

“But they havena left. I tried to convince her she was in danger at Leoch, but nothin’s come from it.” 

“So jus’ hurt the bitch again.” 

“Dougal, I dinna want to kill the lassie.” 

“Ye willna kill her. But I’m done playin’ the slow game. I thought marryin’ him off to a Sassenach would be enough to make him lose support for Chief, but ye ken that didna change my brother’s mind. This is our only option. We need him tae leave Leoch forever.” 

If there had been any doubt in Jamie’s mind about the subject of their conversation, it all dissipated with this latest revelation. Horror sunk deep in his stomach.

It took every ounce of willpower Jamie had ever had in his life to keep himself from bursting into the room and stabbing his dirk straight into his uncle’s chest. 

“Maybe…” came Letitia’s slightly dubious response. 

Jamie heard more commotion-- the sound of the swishing of skirts, an impact, and then a little gasp. 

“Do ye _want_ tae be saddled to that crippled wretch while we hide in the shadows-- only for that ungrateful bastard to get Leoch?” came Dougal’s growl. “Answer me! Do ye want me tae become Laird or no’?” 

“Of course I do. It’s just that this hasna been workin…” 

“It’ll work!” Dougal insisted, and then his voice softened, “trust me. The lad’s at wit’s end. Ye’ll have him runnin’ back tae that precious Lallybroch of his-- wanted man or no. Jus’ one more time... aye?” 

“Of course, mo ghraidh. I trust ye.”

“There’s a good lass.” 

Jamie heard a few noises that sounded uncomfortably fervent, and then Dougal spoke again.

“Colum’s expectin’ me in his study. I shouldna tarry any longer.” 

There were a few heavy footfalls. Jamie was about to flee when he heard Letitia stop Dougal. 

“Wait! What about the witch? I saw her at the castle again. What if she kens I have her wee spellbook?” 

“Dinna fash about her,” Dougal dismissed, “and let go of me. I cannae keep Colum waitin’ any longer. I’m leavin’, stay a few moments before ye follow.” 

Jamie knew he had to run now or risk discovery by Dougal. 

_But if Letitia was planning to hurt Claire again, he couldn’t allow her to go..._

Conjuring a quick plan, Jamie darted down the hall and threw himself into a small alcove where some odd supplies and food were kept. He tried to breathe silently despite the sense of panic and betrayal that coursed through his veins. 

He listened closely as the sound of Dougal’s footsteps passed. Fortunately, they didn’t slow as they neared his hiding spot, and soon the sound was fading into the distance. 

Jamie stepped out into the hall again and took a deep breath to steel himself. His mind was desperately turning over the tidal wave of information that had just overwhelmed him, but he didn’t have time to stop and process. Even more so, his body was nearly trembling with the force of the betrayal. Trying to quell the anger that was bubbling up to the surface, he started back toward the surgery. 

He descended the steps quickly, making no effort to disguise the sound of his footfalls. He felt no fear confronting his aunt. He was twice her size and could overpower her easily. But there was still a great sense of unease. 

His mind drifted to his wife upstairs, to the fear she had been living in for days. He swallowed any thoughts that threatened to make him lose his nerve. He knew he had to end this here and now. 

He threw himself into the room with no little amount of ferocity. 

At the sound of him bursting in, Letitia turned from the table in the center of the room in surprise. 

“Jamie, what are ye doin’ here?” 

Jamie stalked toward her. Rage was turning the edges of his vision red and his hands were clenched at his sides in fists so tense that his knuckles were bone white. 

“I ken what ye’re doin’ to her,” he said in a low voice. It nearly trembled with the force of his anger, but he kept it even and menacing. 

“Lad, I dinna ken what ye’re talkin’ about…”

Jamie went ramrod straight in an effort to keep himself from throwing his body at her and beating her to a pulp. 

“Dinna play the fool wi’ me, I ken yer and Dougal’s game. How could ye, _aunt_?” Jamie sneered the last word, derision dripping from his tongue. 

His brain seemed to be short circuiting with the intensity of the confrontation. Various emotions were threatening to choke him-- betrayal, fear, but mostly anger. This woman was his kin, Dougal had been like a father to him, and they were threatening that which he loved most. All for something as meaningless as power. Over something he didn’t even want. 

He put his emotions in check again and turned his attention back to his aunt. 

Letitia was starting to stutter out a reply, but Jamie cut her off. 

“Listen. For the love I once bore ye, I willna lay a hand on ye. I willna even tell Colum about yer unfaithfulness. If… if-- ye just give me the likeness and promise never to bring any harm to Claire ever again.” 

Letitia looked at him with something unreadable in her eye. A glint of… malice? 

The awareness had just dawned on Jamie when Letitia suddenly whirled around to grab something off of the table behind her. 

Jamie started toward her, realizing his mistake in standing that far away from her, just as she turned to face him again. 

In her hand was clutched a little straw figure-- tied together in the shapes of arms and legs with strings and covered in a scrap of cloth-- and atop it’s head was a bit of all-too-familiar brown curls. 

The other hand held a scalpel. 

“Stay back!” She screeched. 

Jamie froze. His heart leapt to his throat, threatening to choke him, and the whooshing sound of panic began to roar in his ears. 

Ever so slowly, he raised his hands up defensively. He tried to appear as non-threatening as possible, but he was nearly unequal to the task of keeping his voice calm. 

“I ken ye dinna wish to hurt her, Aunt. I heard ye talkin’ to Dougal, aye?” He took a breath, “Ye dinna really wish to do any of this, do ye? Please. Just give it to me, and we can forget all of this.” 

Jamie started to take a step forward, toward Letitia, but she waved the scalpel dangerously close to the likeness. 

“Don’t come any closer!” 

Jamie froze again, keeping his hands up. 

Letitia looked wildly around. She seemed at a loss for what to do. Jamie knew his words had rang true to her. She didn’t want to actually kill Claire. But looking at her now, hatred shining in her eyes and the feral look of an animal backed into a corner in her posture, he was terrified of what she might be capable of. 

“Ye need to leave,” she said, voice shaking a little, “turn around, leave Leoch, and never look back.” 

“Ye ken I canna do that when ye still have the power over my wife in yer hand,” Jamie said slowly, trying to sound nonchalant and reasonable even while his heart pounded in his ears, “give it to me, and I promise ye, Claire and I will leave.” 

He started to outstretch his arm, palm up, and looked her dead in the eye, nodding encouragingly. 

Letitia’s gaze flicked to his outstretched hand, to the likeness, and then back to his face. 

The next few moments seemed to go in slow motion. 

Letitia jerked her arm to bring the scalpel right up to the straw figure. Jamie saw the decision in her features, and started to lunge toward her-- all the muscles in his legs coiling to propel him forward. 

Just before he reached her, the rusty blade slid down the length of the straw figure’s leg. 

He bellowed in agony as he made impact, his body throwing hers to the floor. 

Jamie landed on top of her with a thump, and she lay motionless underneath him. He instantly grabbed for the wrist holding the scalpel, fumbling frantically. 

His fingers curled around her wrist with enough force to bruise, wrenched it away from the likeness, and jerked it to her other side to slam it against the floor. It hit the ground so hard that she let out a pained sound, and her hand involuntarily opened, giving Jamie the opportunity to grab the scalpel and throw it as hard as he could across the room. 

He had both of her wrists in his hands and he pinned her down to the floor. His breathing was coming in deep pants. Every instinct told him to smash her head against the ground-- and to keep striking her until she could never harm Claire again-- but an even greater part of his brain drowned the rage out. 

_His fear for Claire._

Letitia was lying stunned on the ground under him. The wind had obviously been knocked out of her, but she seemed otherwise fine. 

He reached across and pried the straw figure from her hand. 

Anxious to end this, he shot to his feet and stalked over to the fire that was fortunately burning in the hearth. 

Muttering a prayer under his breath, he chucked the damn thing into the flames. 

He turned immediately on his heel and started toward the door. He had to get to Claire. He prayed to God that Murtagh was still with her and could staunch the bleeding of this new wound. He had no idea how bad it would be. 

Before he bolted out the door, however, he had to tie up one last loose end. 

“Dinna _ever_ lay a hand to my wife again. I willna tell Colum about yer affair if ye promise to leave my family alone,” he growled. 

With that, he ran from the room and into the hallway. 

As he sprinted through the castle, panic coursing through him, there was no time for relief over ending this horrid threat. He had one thought and one thought only in his mind… 

_Claire_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eeeee, there it is! The revelations we have been waiting for! I would loove to hear your reactions :) *Holds breath nervously*
> 
> Next chapter probably coming later this week. Thank you so, so much for reading!!


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Previously...  
> Jamie discovers Dougal and Letitia Mackenzie in the surgery engaged in an affair. He overhears their conversation and realizes that they had orchestrated everything as a way to drive him away from Leoch and solidify Dougal's position as next-in-line. After Dougal leaves, Jamie confronts Letitia, promising to keep her secret if only she'll leave them in peace. But she doesn't believe him, and before Jamie can stop her, she produces the likeness and slashes a scalpel down the leg. Jamie subdues her and throws it in the fire to destroy it-- just as Murtagh had instructed. Finally, he runs through the castle, hoping he can make it to Claire in time.

“I’ll be fine, Murtagh. Go,” Claire said, waving her hand dismissively, “I’m feeling much better, and I’m sure Jamie will be back any minute. It was probably vain hope to think he’d actually find her.” 

Murtagh leveled her with a dour look that was simply an intensification of his usual grumpy expression. 

Claire gave a little huff and roll of her eyes. 

“Go and get some food. You haven’t eaten all day. I’m _alright_.” 

Murtagh finally acquiesced, and Claire felt a small sense of triumphant as he left the room. She really was fine, and this bit of independence seemed a tiny step toward getting her life back. 

She settled down on the bed. The pillows were soft and the bed surprisingly comfortable for eighteenth century standards. Still, she couldn’t have been more tired of being stuck in it. She tossed around for a minute, trying to find a position where her body didn’t ache, but she only got more and more frustrated. 

She struggled up to a sitting position and felt pleased when her chest and head only throbbed a little at the movement. Feeling particularly brave (and equal parts sick of being in bed), she swung her legs over the side. 

Her bare feet touched the floor, and she felt a swell of pride at the fact that she didn’t feel dizzy at all when she looked down at them. She stood tentatively, but found herself fortunately stable. 

_Okay, Beauchamp, you got this. Maybe just a little trip to the window._

She walked across the room with trembling legs and only minimal swaying. 

Blood loss was nasty business, and she was still feeling the effects in her cottony head and tingling limbs, but she was overall just fine. 

She had just made it to the window and was celebrating that small victory when pain shot up her leg and her vision went white. 

She cried out and her legs buckled underneath her, sending her collapsing to the ground as she clutched frantically at her leg. 

An all-too familiar sense of panic gripped her as she looked down to find a gash spanning her thigh from knee to nearly halfway to hip. 

_Oh no, no, no, this can’t be happening. Not again. Not now._

“Jamie!” she cried out as horror threatened to block her windpipe. “Jamie!” 

Tears came to her eyes as she watched the blood blossom from her once perfectly smooth skin. She wrenched her gaze away and tried to slow her breathing. 

The pain was terrible. It pulsed through her with every savage beat of her heart that sent more blood seeping from the wound. 

It was only a flow, thankfully, not a spurt. _Missed the artery then._

Claire’s mind started racing with frantic thoughts. She had to pull herself together and stop this bleeding. _She was a nurse, damn it._

With shaking hands, she tried to tear a strip off the edge of her shift. But her arms were trembling too hard with pain, and her fingers were still much too weak to grip well enough for such a task. She abandoned that line of work and looked around for another option. The bedding was too far for her to reach. _Damn her and her need to prove herself._ Nothing useful was close. 

So, her back resting against the wall, she pressed her quivering hands as tightly as she could over the wound and waited for help. 

Her voice held an edge of despair as she fruitlessly called for Jamie again. 

The silence of the room mocked her. All she could hear was the sound of her own beating heart echoing in her ears. 

Just as she had resigned herself to bleeding out alone, the door burst open, and Jamie barreled in. 

He was a flash of red and tartan as he ran to her side and fell to his knees beside her with a cry of “Sassenach!” 

Relief crashed over her at the sight of him, and the despondency that had begun to grip her dissipated in an instant. 

“G-Get something to staunch the-” Claire started, but Jamie was already bolting up and tearing a sheet from the bed. 

He knelt beside her again, this time on the side of her bad leg, and gently reached down to pry her bloody hand away from the wound. 

She let her head fall back against the wall and squeezed her eyes shut tightly as Jamie first tied a tourniquet above it. She winced as he tied it impossibly tight. _Good_. 

Before she could even react or prepare herself, Jamie was grabbing a flask of whiskey from his jacket and pouring it directly over the wound. 

Claire’s scream was deafening even to her own ears. Her vision whited out for a moment, and her world narrowed down to her leg. But gradually, the searing agony abated. 

When she finally regained her senses, she saw Jamie hovering in front of her, looking absolutely terrified. 

“I’m sorry,” his voice sounded strained and pitiful. 

“No,” Claire panted, “no. You had to disinfect. Listen to me, Jamie. We need to stitch this up as soon as possible. I… I can’t afford to be losing this much blood right now.” 

The bleeding had slowed substantially with the tourniquet, but Claire needed this to be over with. 

She let her head fall back against the wall and her eyes fluttered shut as she gave the next instruction. 

“There’s…” her breath hitched, and she squeezed her eyes closed even more tightly with a wince, “my kit’s on the table. Everything you’ll need-- should be in there.” 

She let go of the air she had been holding in her lungs as she forced the words out. 

A big hand was suddenly cupping her cheek, warm and molded to her face so perfectly it was as if it had been made to fit her exactly. But it wasn’t the usual tender caress— the touch held an urgency, and she opened her eyes to find Jamie looking at her with fear etched across his handsome features. 

“Dinna—" his adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard, “please, dinna close yer eyes, mo ghraidh.” 

It dawned on her that he was terrified of her losing consciousness after the last time-- after he had watched her fade from him as he held her-- only days before. She wasn’t nearly in that dire of straits, but she agreed anyway. 

“I promise I won’t leave you,” she told him solemnly. 

He nodded, looking only partially satisfied and completely scared, but stood anyway. Claire watched as he grabbed her little kit (something she’d started bringing to her room after the broken arm incident) and ran back to her. 

Opening it, he drew out the needle. 

He seemed to be alright preparing it. He took all the necessary steps, and Claire (as much attention as she had for such things) was proud of him. 

But as he brought the needle toward her leg, his hands began to shake. He hovered just above it, looking down at it as if it were a terrible foe. His eyes narrowed. 

“Go on,” she encouraged breathlessly. 

He didn’t look up at her; he just kept looking at it for another long moment, completely frozen. 

Then, he slowly lowered it down, and started to push the tip into the raw skin at the edge of the wound. Claire couldn’t help the whimper that escaped her at sting. 

Jamie halted, and he withdrew the needle sharply at the same time as his gaze whipped up to her. He looked down at his shaking hand, and then back up to her. 

With impossibly wide eyes, he informed her in a quivering voice, “I canna do it.” 

Claire let her head fall back against the wall again. She was terrified, exhausted, and completely at the end of her rope, but somehow seeing Jamie this vulnerable made her protective instincts kick in and a completely unnatural surge of strength filled her bones. Claire took a deep breath. 

She placed a hand on his trembling one and then gently removed the needle from his fingers. 

He looked up at her quizzically. 

She took another long inhale, tried to separate her mind from her body, and without a word or moment of hesitation, began to stitch. 

It was a monumental effort to keep her hands still and accurate through the pain that threatened to shut her down. Distantly, she heard Jamie saying something, maybe a protest, but she didn’t have any attention to spare him. Every ounce of sheer stubbornness and willpower she possessed was all that kept her going. 

It felt like ages-- plunging the needle into her skin, drawing it, repeating it all over again. 

Halfway through she nearly lost her nerve, but she continued bravely. 

“Ye’re doin so well, mo ghraidh, my strong lass,” Jamie's voice broke through the haze of concentration as her hand faltered again. 

Finally… finally… she finished the last stitch, and her hand fell limply to her side, leaving the needle dangling. 

Her entire body was trembling like a leaf, and she thought she might pass out any minute. 

“T-tie it off,” she instructed Jamie weakly. 

She disobeyed his earlier plea and closed her eyes. Claire took a few deep breaths as she felt his fingers fumbling with the tie. She told herself to hold on just a little longer as her head buzzed. Even though her eyes were closed, she had the distinct sense that the room was spinning. 

“Sassenach?” Came Jamie’s fearful whisper. 

She cracked her eyes open and mustered a half-smile. “Right here.” 

She saw his shoulders rise and fall as he breathed a sigh of relief. He reached down to tear another strip of cloth, and began to prepare a bandage. Her head seemed to be filled with cotton, but she valiantly kept looking at the top of Jamie’s head as he leaned over her leg to secure the bandage. 

Finally, he finished, and he raised his head and gave her a triumphant smile. Seeing her pale face, though, it quickly faded from his face. His brows furrowed as he studied her. Claire was certain that he could tell she was on the edge of blacking out from the pain. 

“Ye’ll be alright now?” he asked. 

The pleading in his voice brought her that much further away from the edge. Jamie always seemed to bring about the strength in her that she didn’t know she possessed. 

“I think so,” she breathed. And she really did. The blood loss wasn’t ideal, and the pain made her want to vomit, but she was likely past the point of succumbing to shock. As long as they kept the wound clean and avoided any infection, Claire thought she’d be just fine. 

She couldn’t be sure whether she had said all of that aloud or in her head, but Jamie was staring at her as if she had spoken. She met his gaze. 

“Hold me?” She asked suddenly, her voice a breathy rasp. 

The next second, she was in his arms. He wrapped her tightly in himself, cocooning her with an odd mix of extreme gentleness and urgency. She relaxed against him, burying her face into his shoulder, and let him hold her. Her leg hadn’t moved from its position in front of her, and Jamie must have been in an awkward position on his knees to ensure she was comfortable, but she didn’t care. She was home. 

Jamie was rocking her slightly back and forth, his hand smoothing over her back in long strokes. 

“It’s alright now, Sassenach. Dinna fash. It’s all over now. It’s all gonna be jus’ fine,” he murmured into her hair. 

She drew back (nearly knocking Jamie’s chin in the process), and ignored the accompanying wave of dizziness completely. 

“What do you mean ‘it’s all over now’?” 

Jamie’s face lit with a bright smile. Something boyish and hopeful— something she hadn’t seen for too long. 

“I burned the likeness. It’s done.” 

Claire’s mouth fell open in disbelief. Every physical sensation-- the pain, dizziness, discomfort-- all vanished. Hope started to swell in her chest. 

“You mean…?” 

“Aye, ye’re truly safe now,” he breathed. 

Claire’s breath left her lungs in a disbelieving, joyful laugh. She fell back into Jamie's arms and pressed her face into his neck as relief surged through her veins. 

The veil of terror that had plagued her for weeks was lifted. Her shoulders felt like a horrible weight had been taken off of them. 

Then, the next question hit her, and she drew back to look at Jamie again. 

“So, you found Geillis?” 

He shook his head. “No, it wasna her. But dinna fash about that jus’ now. I’ll explain all in due time. For now, please, let me just hold ye.” 

That sounded like a very good idea to Claire, because her head was heavy and suddenly very hard to hold up on her own. She allowed Jamie to cradle the base of her skull and gently guide her to lay on his shoulder again. 

His arms settled around her once more, and she began to soak up the peace of this moment. Claire let out a sigh of contentment. 

_It was over. It was finally over_. 

_She was safe._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A heartfelt thanks to each and every one of you for reading!! <3 Next chapter will be up in a couple days


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Previously...   
> Claire suffers the effects of Letitia's parting blow. Jamie makes it to her side, and together, they tend to her leg. When it's all over, Jamie tells Claire that he burned the likeness-- she's safe.

2 days later

***

Claire awoke to a dim room and glanced toward the window to see early dawn light just beginning to seep in. Even in the hazy grey, she could make out Jamie’s shape beside her. As her eyes grew more adjusted, she noticed that there was a smile gracing his sleeping face. 

They were lying side by side. Jamie-- in deference to her injuries-- had politely declined to sleep spoon-fashion for a time. Even still, they had fallen asleep with their hands clasped between them, and Claire was surprised to notice that he still clutched it tightly, even in sleep. 

Her heart swelled with affection for him. She couldn’t seem to resist as she rolled herself up onto her side and braced her elbow on the pillow so she could rest her head on her hand and watch him sleep. But she was careful not to pull her other hand from his. Her thumb absently smoothed back and forth over the back of it, feeling the strength of it even in sleep. 

As she studied her husband, the silence of the room seemed to descend on her. As quiet rooms at night tended to do, the stillness made her thoughts race. She drifted into reflection quite without realizing it. 

She had been shocked to hear the story of what had happened two days before-- once Jamie had finally agreed to tell it. Quite frankly, she’d been equally surprised by Jamie’s decision not to tell Colum about Letitia and Dougal’s affair. She herself was inclined to put the entire nasty situation behind them, but she would have thought Jamie’s ire toward the orchestrators of her suffering would have burned so hot that he simply had to have vengeance. 

Still, she was proud of his decision. She knew Jamie hated the politics of Leoch, and going to war with Dougal would only bring further danger to both of them. All over a position Jamie didn’t even want. 

As she watched the smile flicker on Jamie’s face, she allowed herself to enjoy the peace of the moment. There had been enough intrigue to last her a lifetime-- she was just glad it was over and she could move on. The control that she had lost for weeks on end was finally back in her hands. She could recover and then go back to her surgery-- back to healing without fear of harm coming to her at any moment. Joy swelled in her chest at the thought of the freedom she once again possessed. 

But she was growing bored with her own thoughts, and the sight of Jamie’s sweet vulnerability was tempting…

She leaned down and brushed her lips lightly over the swell of his cheekbone. She moved lower, pressing a feather-light kiss to his jaw. She added one by his ear, then temple, all the way up to forehead. His smile widened in his sleep, and he started to stir. When her lips had wandered down to meet his-- her touch still soft and light-- his eyes fluttered open. 

He kissed her back, tilting his head off the pillow to chase her lips when she tried to move back. She allowed him to catch her and pressed down for a more fervent kiss. Jamie mumbled his approval against her lips. 

“Well, g’mornin’, mo ghraidh,” he murmured sleepily when they had finally broken apart. 

“Goodmorning, darling.” 

Jamie’s head flopped to the other side of the pillow as he looked out the window. She couldn’t help but reach a hand out to muss his curls, sinking her fingers deep in them and letting her fingertips brush his scalp. 

He hummed his approval, but looked back at her. 

“What are ye doin’ awake so early? Could ye no’ sleep?” His eyes widened as a thought occurred to him, and he suddenly asked, “are ye in pain?” 

Claire shook her head while giving him a reassuring smile. “I’m fine. I couldn’t sleep, but not because anything is wrong. I was just watching you.” 

He visibly relaxed. Then, as if his brain had just processed her last statement, he raised his brows. A twinkle appeared in his eyes that Claire had missed desperately. 

“Och, aye? Watchin’ me sleep?” 

Claire tugged on his red locks and laughed. 

“It’s not like you haven’t watched me sleep for weeks now.” 

“I have. But only because ye’re sae bonny.” 

“Well I think ye’re bonny, too.” 

Claire leaned down and pressed a kiss to his nose, and then giggled when his face scrunched up. 

Then, they both held each other’s gaze for a long moment. She felt his chest rise and fall against her with each breath. The atmosphere grew serious as emotion fell over Jamie’s features. The air seemed heavier than it had only seconds ago. 

“I’m jus’ glad ye’re alright,” he breathed. His eyes were sheened with a glistening of what Claire thought might have been tears. 

“I’m glad you burned that damned thing.” 

Jamie’s hand had wandered to the back of her neck as she spoke, and he started to knead gently. 

“Aye. I am too.” 

When his hand gingerly pressed her forward, she followed his guidance and leaned in to kiss him for a long, lingering moment. 

Then, she readjusted herself so she could settle down onto Jamie’s chest. As she lowered herself down, she made a slight breathy sound of discomfort. 

“Are ye alright, mo nighean donn?” Jamie asked instantly. 

She nuzzled her face into his chest (thinking to herself how he made an excellent pillow). 

“I’m more than fine.” 

His lips pressed to the top of her curls. 

“What were ye thinkin’ about all the time ye were awake?” Jamie asked her. 

“Just… just feeling grateful. For you. That we can put the whole thing behind us.” 

She let her eyes fall closed as Jamie’s fingers came up to stroke her back. He drew abstract shapes into her skin. Every touch made tingles of pleasure spread across her. 

“I’m grateful too,” he said quietly. 

“But also…” she started, then stopped. The words caught in her throat. She almost thought better of ruining the perfect moment, but her fears were beginning to surface, and she wasn’t sure she could silence them alone. She took a breath and asked her question, “Do you think Dougal will retaliate? Because we know about him and Letitia?” 

He didn’t miss a beat before replying. 

“Nah, lass,” Jamie said confidently, “as long as I have this hangin’ over his head, Dougal wouldna dare try anythin’ against us. One word from me, and he’d lose everythin’. Besides, if he had wanted to do somethin’, he would have by now.” 

Claire felt the lightness in her chest begin to return as Jamie spoke. After living under this shadow for far too long, she went back and forth between accepting the freedom and reverting back to fear. It took a conscious effort to maintain the belief of peace. But Jamie was right. They were well and truly free. Living in unspoken tension with his aunt and uncle, yes, but an assured peace nonetheless. 

She placed another kiss to Jamie’s chest, pressing her smile into his skin. 

Lacking anything else to say in reply, she settled for a relieved, “good.” 

Jamie’s hand wandered from her back up to her hair. She felt him extract a single curl from the mass and tug it gently. Her scalp tingled as the curl was straightened, and then bounced back to its corkscrew shape. He wrapped his finger around with it abstractedly. The silence spread between them again as he fiddled with her hair. 

Finally, he broke it. 

“I keep askin’ ye how ye feel and ye willna tell me,” he commented. His voice was casual, as if he was simply making an observation. But she knew there was more to it. 

He was about to continue, but Claire cut him off. 

“I have told you,” she said, the barest hint of exasperation hidden behind her tone, “I’m  _ fine _ .” 

Jamie shifted underneath her. He pushed himself slightly in the direction of the headboard, and she knew he was propping himself so he could study her. She felt his eyes on her as much as she’d feel his touch. 

“Sassenach,” his voice was admonishing but still tender, “ye nearly bled to death and had yer leg ripped open all in the span of mere days. No’ to mention yer arm still hasna healed. Ye’re the strongest lass I’ve ever met… but it’s alright to no’ be fine, ken?” As he spoke the last part, his voice lowered. He sounded nearly pleading-- beginning her to really hear him. 

Claire let out a breath she didn’t know she had been holding as his words sunk in. Her instinct was always to swallow the pain. She could handle it. After all she’d been through, the toll on her body was surprisingly something she could keep in check. But she had tried to hide her feelings from Jamie before-- to bury them deep inside herself and deal with them alone-- and she’d learned very quickly that a marriage was meant to be two people sharing the burdens. Jamie was here for her, in sickness and in health. Even though Claire thought something as inconsequential as telling him about her various pains might not be worth sharing, she realized that keeping it from him was likely worse. 

From where she lay on his chest, she could feel the thrumming of tension in his body while he waited for her response. She was certain he still laid awake at night worrying over her. 

With a feeling of something akin to the sensation of taking off layers after a long day, she spoke up, ready to tear down every wall that separated her from Jamie. 

“My chest aches every time I take a breath. And my leg hurts like hell. But truly, Jamie, I  _ am  _ alright. I’m sorry I haven’t really answered you. I didn’t want to worry you over nothing. But I realize that not telling you likely made it worse for you.” 

He let out a chuckle that sent a whoosh of air rushing from his lungs that was audible to Claire from where she laid on his chest. 

“Aye, that’s true, mo nighean donn. I’ve been right fashin’ o’er yer state every day for God knows how long. I canna tell ye how good it is to hear ye complain. Because when ye do, I ken things are no’ so serious. It’s when ye tell me that ye’re fine or keep yer pain from me when I ken well ye’re  _ not fine  _ that I really get worrit.” A beat passed before he continued. “Thank ye for tellin’ me.” 

His fingers wandered over her forehead, tracing her hairline and occasionally dipping up into her hair. 

He spoke again. “Can I do anythin’? To ease yer pain?” 

“You already are, Jamie,” she said quietly. She nuzzled into his chest and gave it a quick kiss. “You’re here. With me. The rest is just time. And now we have all the time in the world.” 

She knew Jamie was smiling without seeing it. 

“Aye, we do. Tis a bit of an odd feeling, is it no’?” 

“It is. What will we do with ourselves?” 

Jamie’s hand stilled, halting its journey to trace down the side of her face. 

“I dinna ken. In other circumstances I might have a few ideas… but they would hurt yer leg...”

The grin in his voice made her lift her head to give him a squinty-eyed look. He was smirking down at her, humor and desire mingling in his heated gaze. 

“James Fraser, don’t be a tease when you know quite well that I’m recovering and can’t do anything about it,” she chided. 

She laid herself flat back on the pillow, abandoning his chest for the comfort of lying flat. In response, Jamie shifted onto his belly so he could prop up on one elbow and look down at her. 

“Sorry,” he apologized without any real remorse. He leaned down to press a soft, lingering kiss to her lips. Kissing back without hurry or desperation, she simply enjoyed his closeness. 

“Well, perhaps we just… go back to sleep?” Claire suggested, a little breathless, after Jamie had pulled away. 

“Aye. Fallin’ back to sleep wi’ my wife warm in bed sounds like a braw idea,” he agreed. 

A fondness filled Claire’s chest as he settled back down next to her. He seemed hesitant at first how to position himself. The longing for closeness was apparent, but Jamie (ever the gentlemen) was at a loss for how to hold her without hurting her. 

Claire reached across and gently tugged one of his arms over her stomach. The warm weight of it sent a rush of contentment through her veins. 

“I won’t break, Jamie. I want you to hold me,” she said softly, “I’ve missed you.” 

“I’ve missed you, too,” he replied in a voice so low it was almost a whisper. 

So, Jamie settled himself at her side, arm swung over her middle and safely away from any injuries, and they laid together in the silence and comfort of their own room. 

Claire found herself dozing off far too soon. As much as she wanted to fight it-- wanted to just enjoy the peace and nearness to Jamie-- she knew she needed to sleep in order to heal. Her eyes fluttered closed. 

A breathy sound came from beside her, and her eyes leisurely opened again to the sight of Jamie already fast asleep. 

His face was tilted toward her, mouth slightly open. Small puffs of air left his parted lips in the rhythmic pattern of sleep. 

She smiled as a wave of nostalgia hit her. He looked just like he had on their wedding night many months ago. Only a boy, so enamored with the loving of her. Once again, he had fallen asleep as he watched her. 

It was incredibly endearing. 

For the second time that morning, she watched him sleep for a moment. Her heart sang with the feeling that  _ all was well _ . 

With that warmth inside her, she allowed her own eyes to fall closed again. And in the peace of the quiet morning, listening to Jamie’s breathing, Claire knew they could finally begin to heal. 

Together. 

***

**2 few days previously…**

***

Letitia laid on the floor of the surgery, still gasping for breath. The place on her wrists where her nephew had gripped her mere seconds ago throbbed in insistent pain. Her heart raced as she listened to the sound of Jamie’s retreating footsteps. 

_ Running to his damn Sassenach.  _

She sat up slowly and her back screamed in discomfort. She shuddered, and then tried to intake a full breath through aching ribs. 

_ Damn. Dougal would kill her for this _ .  _ And if the lad decided not keep his promise and went to Colum... Well, Colum would kill them all. _

Who was she kidding? It wasn’t a matter of  _ if _ he told him, but  _ when _ . Jamie couldn’t pass up the opportunity to rid himself of Dougal’s threat once and for all. And after what they had done to his wife… 

She shuddered. Jamie didn’t strike her as a particularly vengeful man, but the reason they had chosen to target his Sassenach was because she was his world. No, he wouldn’t bide harm coming to her as much as he wouldn’t allow it to go unpunished. 

Letitia mildly hoped he’d be too late to save the girl. If he was mad with grief, perhaps she could convince Colum he was insane and insanely placing blame. 

Her mind began to race as she struggled to come up with any way to worm herself out of the situation she was trapped in. 

She was just about to stand when something caught her eye. 

The little straw likeness was sitting on the edge of the hearth, the flames not even reaching its feet. 

A smile started to spread slowly across her face. 

She stood up and dusted off her skirts. She straightened purposefully, and felt the dignity and control return to her. Then, she strode over to the fire and plucked the little thing neatly from the edge. 

_ Maybe she wasn’t doomed after all _ . 

***

The composure Letitia had hastily donned upon the discovery of the intact likeness had dissolved the instant she had recounted the story to Dougal. His face had darkened steadily into deeper shades of red with every new detail of the narrative. She had ended by presenting her last bargaining chip-- the likeness-- and hoped it’s discovery would be enough to stamp down his ire. 

She had expected him to roar in fury-- to descend into a tirade that would risk discovery. Instead, he must have been simmering in silent anger, because he seemed completely calm. It disconcerted her so much that it ratcheted her energy up several notches.  _ Maybe he wasn’t understanding her?  _

Fear from the last several weeks-- if she was honest with herself, fear she had been stamping down every since the affair started-- began to consume her. 

“He’ll tell!” Letitia screeched, bordering on hysterics, “I ken he will. If we dinna put a stop to this now.” 

Dougal just sat on the edge of the table, completely still. But she could see that he seethed with carefully contained rage. The protruding vein on his forehead was the only indicator that he truly understood the gravity of what she was telling him. 

“I was a fool to trust ye wi’ this task,” he said in a low, even voice. “Give it to me.” 

She handed him the straw figure with shaking hands. 

“I’m goin’ tae end this,” he said calmly. 

“How? What do ye mean to do?” She asked, both fearfully and skeptically. 

“We kill them both. That way no one says a word.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dang it, Jamie, how many times have I told you to make sure the voodoo doll actually burns?!? (Did anyone else think something like that was going to happen in "The Reckoning" when Jamie throws away the ill wish? Because he totally just throws it beside the fire.)
> 
> Thanks for sticking with me, sorry that this chapter came later than promised. Next chapter is about to be wild, so I won't make promises about when I'll have it up, but it'll be soon. So much love to you all <3


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Previously...   
> Claire and Jamie celebrate their newfound freedom and safety. Unbeknownst to them, Jamie hadn't actually burned the likeness, and Letitia took it out of the fire. She brings it to Dougal, who insists that the only course of action left is to kill both Jamie and Claire.

Jamie and Claire lay asleep together in the comfort of their warm room. Jamie had Claire folded into himself, both arms around her and her body pulled close to his chest. Claire was melted against him, fitting perfectly into the long lines of his body. They slept peacefully, without knowing of the danger approaching. 

Meanwhile...

Dougal stalked through the halls of Leoch. His hand clutched the likeness in his pocket and it took all of his self control not to simply squeeze the life out of it immediately. But no, if he were to take Jamie on one-on-one (and he had no choice about that, he couldn’t risk anyone else knowing his secret nor the Frasers’ fate)-- he would need every bit of leverage over him that he had. His footsteps seemed to echo menacingly as he made his way down the corridor, every sound betraying his intentions. 

The plan had been forming ever since Letitia had blethered on about Jamie’s discovery. Dougal’s pace quickened as he went over it in his head. He would make it into a simple story. Claire died of some unknown cause; Jamie apparently slit his own throat in grief. Neat and tidy-- no questions to be asked. 

He had contemplated for hours just how he would do it. The lass would not be a problem. And if she became one, it would be quick and easy to be done with her. No, he was really worried about Jamie. He’d trained him himself, after all. He knew how wicked fast the lad was with a sword. He would need to slip in while he was asleep and simply slit his throat. Then he’d take care of the Sassenach. 

Simple and quick. 

Dougal crept into the silent room with a feeling of finality. 

Moonlight filtered into the room, and the fire flickered in the hearth, giving him just enough light by which to navigate. He padded on soundless feet toward the bed. Jamie was curled around his sassenach, back toward Dougal. His red curls were splayed wildly on the pillow. For a second, he looked so heartbreakingly much like Ellen that it gave him pause. 

_ Could he really kill his own nephew? The lad who he had fostered as his own? In this terrible way-- defenseless in his sleep? There was no honor in that kind of death. _

But Dougal shook himself out of it. Jamie threatened everything he held dear. He threatened his relationship with Letitia, but more importantly, he threatened his position as next-in-line to be Laird of Clan MacKenzie. As Dougal lingered over his nephew, dirk in hand, he told himself that it was for the Jacobite cause that he did this. As chief of the clan with no one to answer to, he could declare for the Stuarts when the time came-- something neither Colum nor Jamie would have the bollocks to do. 

Dougal steeled himself, sent a prayer for forgiveness up to Ellen, and raised the dirk. 

Muscles trembling and eyes falling closed, he brought it down. However, instead of the sick sensation of the knife slicing through flesh, there was an impact to Dougal’s wrist, halting his motion. His eyes popped open. 

Those damn Fraser cat eyes stared up at him-- shock mingled with betrayal shining clearly despite the dark room. 

Jamie’s hand was wrapped around Dougal’s wrist. Both of them held completely still, taking in the other. 

But his nephew was quicker to action. Hand still an iron bar around Dougal’s forearm, Jamie jerked into a sitting position and wrenched Dougal’s wrist in an effort to force the dirk from his hands. Dougal held on and gritted his teeth through the pain. He pulled his arm back, trying to break free from Jamie’s grasp. When it didn’t work, he took a step back and jerked harder. 

Jamie flew off the bed and, in an instant, was tackling Dougal to the floor. He hit the ground with a muffled grunt, and Jamie’s substantial weight followed. 

A feminine cry came from the bed, and Dougal cursed mentally.  _ The sassenach was involved now. So much for being quick and quiet.  _

His attention was ripped from that problem to the more pressing one. Jamie was on top of him, his bulk pinning him down to the ground. Hands fumbled at his wrists for the dirk. 

Dougal quickly broke out of his stupor and shoved a knee up under the lad. With all his might, he drove it forward into his nephew’s stomach, and Jamie went flying off of him. Dougal scrambled up, dirk secured in his hand, and turned to face Jamie, who rose to his feet with a look of fierce resignation. 

They stood motionless and staring at each other for a long second. Both were waiting for the other to make a first move. Jamie’s hands were raised as he tried to look defensive and nonthreatening. 

“Dougal, ye dinna need to do this,” he said in a low voice. 

In the instant while Jamie was talking, Dougal spared a glance at the bed. Claire was sitting up and clutching her leg, eyes wild with panic. Her hair was messy and haloed around her, and a deep part of his brain absently thought she looked lovely. It would be a waste to kill her-- but as soon as he’d taken care of Jamie, it would have to be done. 

His attention snapped back to Jamie as the lad suddenly broke the stillness and hurled himself at him. But Dougal was ready. He slashed out viciously with his dirk, but Jamie managed to dodge to the side, deflecting his blow. Ignoring his growing frustration, Dougal tried again, stabbing out toward him with a simple thrust. 

Jamie was quick-- he’d give him that. He had been taught by the best, and now he was damn good. Even unarmed and reeling from shock, Dougal would have to be careful. 

He raised the dirk and slashed downward, a sweeping blow meant to cut clear down his chest. 

Jamie jumped backward, smashing into the nightstand by the bed, his hands still raised. But just as quickly, he leapt to the side and circled closer to the door. 

“Listen to me,” Jamie said again, maddeningly calm, “it doesna need to come to this.” 

But Dougal was not inclined to listen. He lunged forward again, this time his dirk caught Jamie’s forearm and ripped up his sleeve. 

Jamie hissed through gritted teeth, and the lass cried out from the bed, “Jamie!” 

His nephew’s eyes went wide as his wife entered his attention again. HIs expression went from determination to fear. He kent he had something to lose. Dougal could use that. 

With hands still raised, Jamie looked over Dougal’s shoulders toward the bed. 

“Claire, dinna move,” he ordered in a low voice. 

“Come to me, Jamie,” Dougal interjected with a beckon of the hand, “and I’ll kill ye quickly for yer mother’s sake.” 

Pain flashed in Jamie’s eyes at the mention of his mother. He circled slowly during the exchange, light on his feet, edging closer to the bed. Dougal realized distantly that he was trying to put himself between Dougal and his sassenach. 

“I dinna want tae be laird, Uncle,” Jamie hissed as he moved, “ye dinna have to do this.” 

Rage, red and hot as coals, burned through Dougal at the words. 

“Ye’ve ruined me!” He burst out, hissing out a whisper so as not to draw attention, “ye come here wi’ yer Sassenach bride and traitor Fraser blood, and still they want to make ye Laird. And now ye ken far too much!” 

As he finished the tirade, he hurtled forward with renewed effort. His dirk slashed wildly as Jamie dodged and deflected his blows. Everything seemed to move so quickly-- so frantically out of his control-- and yet somehow far too slow for his taste. 

Jamie caught his wrist and whirled, slamming Dougal into the wall with his body. He hit with an “oof” and Jamie banged his hand into the wall. 

Dougal slammed his forehead forward, colliding with Jamie’s face with a mild crunch. The lad’s hand fell, and Dougal pushed him away at the same time as he threw his dirk forward. Jamie managed to stumble to the ground, and the blade barely whizzed over the top of his head. Then, Dougal was falling on him. 

He pounced, but landed on an empty spot where Jamie had been a mere second ago. His nephew had scurried backward in the nick of time, and was popping back to his feet. 

Dougal shot up too, and barreled toward him. He raised the dirk and brought it toward his face, grunting in exertion. But Jamie caught his wrist with both hands just before the blade could reach him. 

They were locked like that for a long moment, staring each other in the eyes. The dirk was raised between them, and Dougal’s muscles trembled with the effort to force it down and overpower Jamie. 

The lad’s eyes darted toward the bed in a moment of weakness. 

A rush of satisfaction buzzed through Dougal as he tilted the blade downward to Jamie’s bracing hands and the edge began to cut into his fingers. 

Jamie let out a cry and suddenly a knee was slamming into Dougal’s groin. 

Dougal doubled over in pain, the dirk falling from his fingers and landing on the ground with a clatter. He gritted out a curse. 

Before he had managed to gather himself, a big hand grabbed Dougal’s neck and squeezed savagely. The other hand joined it in a deathly grip. Jamie used the chokehold to raise him, and he found himself suddenly standing and looking into his nephew’s wild eyes. 

The grip on his neck was making him see stars. Already the familiar rushing sound overwhelmed his ears, and his lungs twitched and ached for breath. Dougal knew he didn’t have long before losing consciousness.  _ Would Jamie kill him? _ The lad’s face was red with exertion, teeth clenched and the vein on his forehead popping with the effort of choking him. 

With his last lucid thought, Dougal suddenly remembered the small bundle in his coat pocket. 

Staring Jamie straight in the eyes, he discreetly reached into his pocket, got his fingers around the little straw figure, and squeezed with all the remaining strength in his body. 

A strangled cry rose from the bed. Dougal only caught a glimpse of the effect on the lass, but he saw the blurry shape of her body suddenly collapsing on the bed and going ramrod straight. 

Jamie’s head whipped in her direction, his grip loosening from Dougal’s neck in surprise, and that was all the window he needed. 

He withdrew his hand from his pocket and grabbed both of Jamie’s wrists to tear them from his neck. At the same time, he threw all of his body weight forward and sent both of them toppling to the ground. 

Dougal landed on top of Jamie, the impact minimal for him, but he heard Jamie’s skull crack against the floor with a satisfying  _ thud _ . Taking advantage of the second where Jamie was stunned, Dougal looked around for his dirk. He cursed under his breath as he saw it across the room. 

_ Well, fair’s fair...  _

Dougal’s hand shot out and grabbed Jamie’s neck to choke him. He squeezed with all his might, and watched in satisfaction as Jamie’s eyes bulged. His hair was a fiery halo on the floor, and Dougal was nearly transfixed by it as he leaned over him, pouring all his strength and weight into his hand. 

Jamie’s own hands raised and began scrabbling at Dougal’s face. Dougal tried to angle his face up and away, but Jamie was frantic. His nephew’s fingernails raked over his cheeks, and he cursed. 

He grabbed the straw figure, raised it from his pocket in clear view of Jamie, and hissed, “let go, Jamie.” 

And he squeezed. 

He saw the pain in Jamie’s eyes clearly. The heartache, the hopelessness. 

The moment when he knew he’d been defeated. 

The lad’s hands went limp and fell from Dougal’s face. His eyes were transfixed on the doll and the hand that squeezed it, even as his face grew redder and redder from lack of air. 

As Dougal straddled his nephew and squeezed the straw figure, he felt the sweet surge of victory. 

*

The moment was so unreal yet starkly horrifying that Claire would remember it for the rest of her life. The image would be burned into her brain until she took her last breath-- which probably wouldn’t be long now. Dougal was straddling Jamie, one hand choking the life from her husband while the other clutched a bundle of straw, which she knew was producing the vice grip around her middle. She gasped in pain, desperate to draw in air. 

She had to do something. Jamie’s face was deepening into a sickening purple. She could see his eyes in the dim room, and she noticed the resignation there. He thought he had failed, that he would die and she along with him. 

With her ears roaring in panic and pain nearly whiting her vision, Claire had no idea what to do. She wasn’t even sure she  _ could _ move. The one thing she did know was that if she didn’t act, they would both be dead. 

She gritted her teeth, summoned every ounce of strength, and rolled. 

To her surprise, her body moved. Despite the feeling of being buried under a thousand stones, she found she still had enough control over her body for this minimal action. 

She struggled to draw a breath from constricted lungs, barely inhaling, and used her arms to push herself up. 

The agony increased. She thought her ribs would surely crack under the strain of the horrible pressure around her middle. Her other pains were distant in comparison. Her chest ached and her leg throbbed mercilessly, but there was no time for that. 

She blindly reached for the candle stick next to the bed, and then, fighting through the pain and weight crushing her, launched herself off the bed. 

Claire didn’t remember hitting Dougal. She just heard a terrible sound of metal hitting flesh as she fell on him, and then she was on the floor. 

The vice around her middle was suddenly gone. She gasped in a breath-- the air sweet to her desperately aching lungs, and could have cried in relief. 

A similar gasp came from beside her, and she caught sight of Jamie pushing himself onto his elbows. Following his gaze, she turned her head to find Dougal on the floor a short ways away, grabbing his head. 

Jamie raised himself up onto his knees, and, quick as a flash, his arm shot toward the bed and grabbed for something under his pillow. 

At the same time, Dougal raised up to a sitting position, roaring. Claire was so enraptured by the blood pouring down his face from the gash in his head that she didn’t even notice that it was her he was lunging for. 

It had just occurred to her that he was about to land on top of her when suddenly a flash of white intercepted him. 

Jamie had thrown himself between her and Dougal, catching his uncle’s body and throwing him backward. There was a thump as Dougal landed on his back on the floor, and then Jamie was straddling him. 

Claire’s brain caught up all of a sudden, and adrenaline kicked in. She pushed herself onto her elbows, the healing gash in her chest protesting. 

Jamie had his own dirk in hand, and it was suspended between him and Dougal, the point barely above Dougal’s chest. Jamie grunted in effort, and Claire saw his muscles trembling as he tried to force it downward into his uncle’s heart. But Dougal was strong. His own solid arms tried to muscle the dirk upward while his other hand on the hilt attempted to turn it up toward Jamie. 

Claire scrambled over (more scooching on her bottom with her useless leg), placed both hands on Jamie’s shoulder, and pushed with all her might. 

His face whipped around toward her, surprise written across his features, but his attention quickly returned to his uncle. 

With their combined strength, the point of the dirk inched closer and closer to his chest. She let out a stifled sound as she pushed harder. 

Just as the dirk was about to be driven into Dougal’s heart, his eyes wide with fear and panic, looking pleadingly up at her in defeat, Jamie suddenly burst out, “Stop!” 

Claire was bewildered. She stopped pushing, but didn’t let her hands fall from his shoulder. They just rested there, motionless, as she waited for what her husband would do. 

Jamie suddenly jerked the dirk upward and out of Dougal’s grasp. Lightning fast, he brought it down instead to rest directly across his neck. 

“I’m no’ goin’ to kill ye, Uncle,” Jamie panted through gritted teeth. Although the dirk pressing to his neck indicated otherwise. “I willna live my life hunted by the MacKenzies for yer death.” 

Claire couldn’t help the protest that fell from her lips, “Jamie--” 

“Dinna fash, lass,” he looked over his shoulder and gave her a reassuring smile, “he willna be gettin’ away wi’ this. I said I wouldna kill him myself, but I think we shall give him over to Colum to do as he pleases.” 

Dougal’s eyes widened. Panic flared on his face. 

“Jes’ kill me,” he egged Jamie in a sputtering, raspy voice, “or are ye such a coward ye need someone else to do yer dirty work? Where is the honor in that?” 

Jamie kept the dirk firmly pressed to his uncle’s neck, but made no move to use it. 

“No, Dougal. Ye lost the chance for honor when ye came for my wife. You and Letitia will face Colum’s wrath for all ye’ve done. The whole clan will learn of yer treachery. And my wife..” he glanced over at Claire and his voice dropped, “my wife will see her justice.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ngl, I have never attempted a fight scene of this caliber before, so I hope it read well and there was a little excitement. I took some key moments from Dougal's death scene in season two-- love/hate relationship with dear Dougal, but that was a darn good scene. It was fun getting into his head a bit this chapter. 
> 
> Thank you so so much for all your love and support! And thank you for sticking with me (especially through all the cliffhangers)! One more chapter to go...


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The last chapter!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Previously...  
> Dougal tries to follow through on his plan to kill both Jamie and Claire to silence them. After failing to slit Jamie's throat, a fight ensues. In the end, Claire manages to give Jamie the upper hand. They both press the dirk toward Dougal's chest, but at the last moment, Jamie stops. He doesn't want to live life on the run from the MacKenzies, and decides to give Dougal up to Colum's justice instead.

The great hall was so silent that the stifled breaths of onlookers were audible. All eyes were fixed on Colum, awaiting a move. He was frozen as well, blazing eyes staring down his wife and brother who knelt at his feet. 

It hadn’t been nearly this silent when Jamie made his declarations. As he told the story, onlookers had gasped and shouted, hurled insults at Dougal or him, even drew swords. But through it all, Colum had been icy calm. The only indication of his ire was the twitch in his hand that laid at his side. The onlookers only grew more riotous when Geillis emerged from the throng of people. Jamie had bristled at that, unsure what exactly she might be playing at. But then she’d declared that she’d seen Letitia with the spellbook with her own eyes. At that, she’d shot a wink in Jamie and Claire’s direction. The pieces fell together in Jamie’s mind. It had been her book, not that she could admit it, and she was backing their story. 

Colum had then called Jamie to bring the likeness forward. After sufficient awed and horrified murmurs from the crowd, with shouts of “ _witchcraft”_ and “ _pagan”_ echoing in the room, it was thrown into a fire and burned in front of everyone. Once and for all. After the horrid thing was truly burned, Jamie could breathe. 

Finally, the proceedings seemed to be wrapping up. All that was left was the fate of Dougal and Letitia. But Colum remained silent and still. 

Jamie was clutching Claire close to his side as they waited for the decision. He could feel his heartbeat in his throat. The tension was so thick in the room that it was stifling. But Claire’s softness against him soothed the apprehension. 

She had insisted on coming, despite all of his protestations that she was still recovering. As much as he wanted her to witness her justice, he was more concerned with her health. Her stubbornness had won out in the end, though. She’d take the crutch Jamie found for her in the surgery and followed him doggedly to the great hall. 

Now, the half of Jamie’s brain that wasn’t occupied with Colum and Dougal was worried about her. She had been through far too much. The toll on her body had been great, and he didn’t want her standing any longer than necessary. Claire was trembling only minimally at his side, and even so, it was impossible to tell whether it was from fatigue or nervousness. 

Jamie was drawn from his contemplation of his wife as Colum began to speak. 

His voice was lower than Jamie has ever heard it. Calm, lordly. But underneath it all was a carefully contained rage, and even a hint of betrayal. 

“Dougal MacKenzie. I hereby sentence ye to life in exile. Ye will no longer be allowed to step foot on MacKenzie land, under penalty of death. If ye spend one more second in my sight, make no mistake, I will kill ye.” 

“My Laird—“ Letitia started to rise to her feet, making to protest. 

In a movement far more vigorous than one would expect for a man of Colum’s condition, he shot to his feet. 

“And ye!” The composure was waning, crumbling to reveal the broken man beneath, “my _wife_ ,” he spat the word as if it was poisonous, “yer infidelity will be rewarded with the very thing ye sought. Ye will go wi’ Dougal. I wish the two of ye eternal misery in the life ye created together.” 

“But I’m—“ she started. 

“Silence!” He roared, “another word out of either of ye and I will rethink my mercy and have ye your heads.” 

Dougal knew better than to speak. He simply knelt, his face pressed to the ground. It was the posture of a man defeated. His infidelity and treachery exposed in front of the entire clan, his pride had been shattered. Seeing a once great man brought so incredibly low sent a wave of satisfaction over Jamie. 

He realized that likely this fate was worse than death. To be forced to live on his own, away from clan and kin. Without purpose. 

Claire stiffened beside him, and he wondered distantly whether she was upset by Colum’s decision. He had promised her justice for the evil done to her. Dismay washed over him at the thought that she felt he hadn’t delivered her vengeance. 

But when he looked down at her, her beautiful glass face didn’t show disappointment or anger. 

But sympathy. 

_Christ! He’d wed the most selfless lass there ever was._

Here she stood, witnessing the fate of two people who meant her dead— and very nearly succeeded— and her heart was big enough to pity them. 

Jamie had no such room in his heart. It had taken all his strength to stop himself from killing Dougal on the floor of their room. But for the sake of Claire and his future with her, he had stopped himself. He couldn’t regret that decision. A life on the run from both the MacKenzies and the British was no life at all. Still, he did feel the twinge over missing the opportunity for taking vengeance with his own two hands. 

Dougal was silent, quieter than Jamie had seen him his whole life. He was absolutely defeated, and two clansmen dragged him up by the arms and escorted him from the room. Letitia rose to her feet, spared only a glance at Colum, and then stumbled out after her lover. 

The moment they were gone, Colum fell back into his chair and slumped down. 

Silence descended again, and Jamie wasn’t sure if that was the end of it. But then, the Laird turned to him and Claire. 

“I apologize,” he said slowly, “for the injury that befell ye from the hand of my wife and brother. Please ken that I will do everythin’ in my power to make it right. Leoch is yer home for as long as ye wish.” 

“Thank ye, Uncle,” Jamie dipped his head graciously, accepting the Laird’s words, at the same time as Claire replied with similar gratitude. 

Then a thought occurred to him. 

“If I may…” he spoke again. At Colum’s nod of assent, he continued, “there is somethin’ ye could do. I need to secure a pardon. I believe the Duke of Sandringham may be my best chance at becomin’ a free man once again. Might ye be willin’ to speak to him on my behalf?” 

Colum was silent for a minute, and Jamie’s wame clenched in fear that he had pushed the generosity too far. 

But then Colum spoke. “Of course, Jamie. We will see ye a free man once again.” 

*

Shortly after, Colum dismissed everyone from the Great Hall. With murmuring and scandalized whispers, everyone filtered out slowly. Jamie stayed still with Claire pressed to his side, taking in the news. _He would be free again._

After the hall had nearly emptied, Claire looked up at him. She raised a hand and gently stroked over his cheek, tilting his head down to look at her. 

“It’s finally over,” she whispered. 

“Aye,” he breathed, “it truly is.” 

A broad smile spread over his face. Overcome by the rush of joy that had been barely held at bay, he leaned down and captured her lips in a searing kiss. She laughed into the kiss, and her hands came up to frame his face as she kissed him back. 

He pulled her upright again and broke away breathlessly, taking in the smile and glimmer in her eyes. Seeing the joy on her face was addictive. 

“Come here, lass.”

He reached down and swooped her off her feet. One hand hooked under her knees and the other braced her back as he lifted her into his arms. He twirled her in a circle with a whoosh of skirts, and then he was leaning down to kiss her again. 

Leaving her crutch abandoned on the floor of the hall, Jamie carried her out. As he walked down the winding halls of Leoch, he basked in the feeling of security. The corridors no longer held danger and foreboding; they were simply old stones. There wasn’t danger around every corner. He could live with his wife freely. 

The shroud of fear had well and truly gone. For certain this time. 

When he arrived at their room, he toed open the door and carried Claire inside. With the upmost care, he laid her on the bed. 

He started to straighten, but his wife's arms snaked around his neck and dragged him down on top of her. 

Laughing breathlessly along with her, he braced himself above her on his forearms, staring down into those beautiful whiskey eyes. 

“Are ye happy?” he asked suddenly, “ye’re no’ disappointed at Colum’s decision?” 

He knew she _was_ happy. Her smile was bright and carefree, nearly blinding. Still, he needed to assuage himself of the last vestige of guilt remaining in his heart-- the slight inkling that this course of action had failed her. 

“I’m happy,” she confirmed, and then immediately brought him down for a kiss. 

The last shred of tension dissipated. 

As they kissed, Jamie pressed her down onto the pillow with the force of his elation. His hand came up to tangle in her hair, cradling her head as he captured her lips over and over. 

When he pulled back just in the slightest, being forced to draw in air to his starved lungs, she breathlessly panted, “we’re free. The both of us.” 

“Aye.” He paused, and drew up further so he could look deep into her eyes. “I can go home-- _we_ can go home. To Lallybroch.” 

The name felt reverent on his tongue. He had ached with longing all this time he’d been away. Finally, he could go home. 

Claire’s eyes held a deep empathy. He knew she could sense exactly what he was feeling. And she shared his excitement, for his sake. Lallybroch wasn’t home for her, so the anticipation wasn’t her own, but Jamie vowed to himself that soon it would be. 

“Ye’ll be my lady,” he breathed and he leaned down again. His lips hovered over hers, barely brushing them as he whispered in rapture, “ _Lady Broch Turach_.” 

What followed was a series of fervent kisses. The passion and relief poured from both of them. Pressed together in the newly found safety of their room, they grew lost in each other. 

When finally Claire had grown so breathless that she couldn’t help but wince at the pull on her chest, Jamie drew back. He rolled off of her and instead snuggled up to her side, bracing up on his elbow so he could still look down at her. 

The whole ordeal was over. It was still hitting him in waves, and the joy of it swelled once again in his chest. He loved her with his entire heart. All of his being. The previous weeks had nearly killed him to see her in pain, to be helpless to protect her, but now that was behind them. All that remained was healing. And they could do that together. 

No matter what came, they would face it united, and that was enough. Jamie had known he loved her since the first night he’d met her. Every day since, that love had only grown. But it scared him a little to realize just how much he had come to _need_ her. In every sense, they were one. Masters of each other’s hearts and souls. And he couldn’t be rended from her. 

Claire reached up a hand to trace back and forth along the edge of Jamie’s jaw, startling him out of his reflection. She smiled warmly up at him. In a soft, sweet voice, she declared: 

“I love you, James Fraser.” 

And in that moment, as her soul echoed his, Jamie's world became complete.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There ye have it, folks! A finished story just in time for the end of 2020. Shout-out to HMBRAY8 for calling the ending :) 
> 
> A note on this thing as whole if you’re interested in what was going on in my head: Getting into this (my first real WIP, and armed with only an outline), I hadn’t ever attempted any kind of mystery/suspense. Since I was switching back and forth between the limited POVs of Jamie and Claire, I was trying to take the reader along with their suspicions. As you probably saw, you all were subject to the convictions of Jamie and Claire, so it was often misleading. As the story progressed, the reader gradually gained more insight into the goings-on as the POV expanded-- such as to Letitia and Dougal. Meanwhile, I tried to keep Jamie & Claire’s story always as my touchstone. Anyway, that all was my goal, hopefully it proved to be an enjoyable read :) 
> 
> Seriously a big THANK YOU for all the support throughout! I read and thoroughly enjoyed all your comments, even if I couldn’t respond without giving anything away. I really hope you enjoyed! It would absolutely make my day to hear your thoughts on the whole thing. Feel free to find me on tumblr @ jamiemackenziefraser as well. So very much love to all of you and have a very happy New Year!!


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